


Whisper

by Shiraume



Category: Prince of Tennis (TV), Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiraume/pseuds/Shiraume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1800s Kyoto, a forbidden romance sparks between a samurai and a courtesan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 一. 藤棚の君 [Lady of Wisteria Trellis]

**Author's Note:**

> A _Prince of Tennis_ AU. Set in Kyoto, Japan, during Tokugawa (Edo) period, in the first half of 1800s. There is cross-dressing, creative abuse of grammar, historical inaccuracies, and a lot of cultural liberties being taken. And this is an old fic (March 2007) written under heavy influence of pseudo-historical Asiatic sap. XD You've been warned!
> 
> Also: there are a LOT of footnotes. Some of the notes (as well as chapter titles) may require Chinese/Korean/Japanese scripts, as I've used all three.

**Whisper**

 _by Shiraume_

(March 5, 2007 - March 20, 2007)

 **一. 藤棚の君 (등나무시렁의 만남) (1)**

Faint sound stirred in the breeze.

At first he dismissed it, running light fingertips over the silk strings. The heavy curtains of purple swayed in the perfumed air, and he thought he heard another faint strain of flute over the whisper of the wisteria blossoms. The strings vibrated, and he tilted his head, listening intently for the fading sound of the flute, hand lightly resting on the silk and wood. The strings were nearly vibrating with anticipation, and he almost smiled.

With his left hand tightly pressing down the strings, he paused for a brief moment, then let his right hand descend.

The first tremulous sound of the _koto_ (2) was not loud or overpowering, but coaxing, chasing the fading melody of the flute until at last the flute responded. They led each other on, challenging and enticing in turn, at once turning playful, and at another turn driving. Then suddenly, a high-pitched twang ripped through the tapestry of music they had woven.

He stared down at his hands in surprise, unwilling to believe the discordant interruption had been from his instrument. The two broken strings caught his eyes, and he fingered the broken ends for a moment, before gathering up the fallen bridges. Gracefully, he took up the instrument in his hand and stood. The flute had also stopped seconds after the _koto_ did, as if shocked into silence at the sudden interruption.

He heard quiet footfalls behind him, but did not turn, carefully wrapping the _koto_. The footsteps stopped, and he lifted the _koto_ and retired, pausing only to briefly incline his head to the stranger, never raising his eyes. He saw a glimpse of a flute in the other's hand, but passed by without acknowledging it.

Tezuka did not lift his flute again, watching the retreating figure. His eyes lingered on the gentle fall of the light brown hair over the dark blue silk, and the splash of lavender twining about the skirt of the _kimono_ \- wisteria flowers blossoming on the azure.

Fragrant purple blossoms stirred in the breeze and Tezuka inhaled, eyes closed, imagining leftover strains of the _koto_ linger in the air, trapped between the tendrils of whispering wisteria.

* * *

Soft tittering laughter greeted him even before he opened the door, and Tezuka sighed. Judging from the volume of laughter, there were at least three or four women behind the _shoji_ (3). Briefly he entertained the notion of excusing himself without announcing his presence, but the door slid open, destroying his chance. Dark head bowed, glossy hair meticulously arranged in an artful coiffeur with tinkling pins and silk flowers, and he had no choice but to enter. The door slid closed behind him with a barely audible click, and the woman bowed again, exposing the delicately painted nape nestled in stiff white collar (4) and embroidered silk.

"Ah, Tezuka. Come in."

"I thought we were going to discuss business?"

"We are." The _geisha_ 's hand, pouring _sake_ for Atobe, was as pale as the white porcelain bottle she held.

"In private?" His voice was still calm, but just a bit sharper. He declined the proffered cup, and another woman, whom Tezuka thought he recognized from Atobe's endless parties, immediately fetched him tea instead.

"Please," she murmured, placing the teacup before him with practiced grace, and he thanked her. He liked this one, who did not titter or flirt with him every other turn. The _geisha_ Atobe called for his parties were exceptionally beautiful - nothing but the best for the Atobe heir - but often bold, self-assured, and flirtatious. And they always tried to engage him in polite conversations even after he made it clear he did not wish to converse.

The woman who had handed him the tea discreetly placed the sweets within his reach, all the while keeping an eye on the flow of conversation, the amount of tea and _sake_ , the food, and whatever else that might require her attention.

"I should have asked Kiyosato to prepare tea ceremony," Atobe commented after watching them for a few minutes. "Kiyosato makes exceptional tea."

"You honor me, Atobe-han, more than I deserve," Kiyosato replied modestly with a hint of smile and a bow. She refilled Tezuka's cup without being asked, then put down the teapot.

Atobe downed another cup of _sake_ , and Tezuka glanced at the empty bottles under the table, faint crease between his brows. "You haven't heard about last night, I take it," Atobe said, staring at him over the rim of the cup.

"What about?"

"That's what happens when you don't bother attending when the lord invites you," Atobe said, and put down his cup. "Hiyoshi got into an argument in the presence of the lord."

It was unusual for the young Hiyoshi, who was always calm and controlled (if arrogant), to lose his composure. "With whom?"

"One of Sanada's underlings." Ah, that explained Atobe's mood. Their lord had expressed growing displeasure regarding the rivalry between Atobe and Sanada's factions. It had gotten worse after Sengoku arrived in Kyoto, who, upon his arrival, had almost immediately fallen in with Atobe rather than Sanada. Unfortunately, the strange mix of loyalties had put Sanada on guard.

"Yanagi knows when to push their advantage." Atobe sounded almost admiring of Sanada's strategist, though his expression quickly soured. "In summary, Sanada will be leading the next campaign."

"I see."

Atobe gave him a sidelong look. "The lord may still call on _you_ to lead the second detachment, if only you would show up at his place every once in a while. As for me, likely I'll be sitting this one out."

"The lord knows I'm still in mourning for my father," Tezuka pointed out. Atobe snorted.

"If you weren't, he would have had you to live in his own house." He held up his cup, which was immediately filled. "Just as well. I'd been meaning to visit Shimabara for a few days. I've heard an interesting rumor recently."

"Aren't you still on duty?" Tezuka asked, half-amazed and half-amused. Atobe had had countless affairs with various _geisha_ and _tayuu_ (5), but never let his numerous affairs get in the way of duty. It was something that Tezuka admired privately.

"Not until next week. Why don't you come with me?"

"Surely you jest."

"Oh for..." Atobe waved a hand. "Your mourning period ends this week. It wouldn't be improper."

"I'll pass." Tezuka was actually a bit amused, but did not let it show. He did, however, recognize the gesture of friendship and support for what it was, even if Atobe had a strange way of showing them. "What is this rumor you've heard?"

Atobe actually looked vaguely evasive at that. "A _geisha_ at White Plum Teahouse."

"Is she an exceptional beauty?"

"It's a male."

Tezuka raised an eyebrow. Male _geisha_ were rare; artisans and entertainers had low status in the society, and few men took up such professions willingly. And the ones who did were more often prostitutes than performers. _Kabuki_ (6) theaters and teahouses alike, males in Flower Town (7) almost invariably meant prostitutes. And everyone knew Atobe never took male lovers.

"I see."

Atobe shifted. "Apparently he is an excellent _koto_ and _shamisen_ (8) player. Oshitari managed to see him once and couldn't shut up about him." He chuckled. "Believe or not, it's damn difficult to see him. But the Tang poetry he sent back at my invitation..." Atobe looked thoughtful. "The hand was excellent. He seems to have some classical Chinese training. Heaven knows from where."

"Tang poetry?" Tezuka echoed, mildly surprised. Then again, nothing short of the highly stylized and elegant poetry from Tang dynasty would have impressed Atobe. Atobe's love for finer (and largely foreign) things in life was well-known, and quite often criticized; he had an abounding fondness for Tang poetry, which had become an obsolete - and in some cases even scorned as outdated and anti-nationalistic - part of literature. That a courtesan would have studied it was strange, and it was small wonder that he caught Atobe's interest.

"It should be interesting, if Oshitari still hasn't abandoned his habit of romanticizing. You're sure you don't want to come?" This time Atobe's invitation was more of a courtesy than a serious suggestion, and Tezuka shook his head.

"Thank you for the invitation," he added for politeness' sake, and Atobe nodded.

"Do bring your flute next time, Tezuka. None of the women does justice to Li Wu (9). I trust that much wouldn't injure your overgrown sense of decorum."

Tezuka snorted. "Perhaps," he said noncommittally, but made a mental note. Despite the way Atobe put it, he knew Atobe genuinely loved fine arts, and greatly respected his talent with the flute.

"Try not to get in trouble while I'm gone," Atobe drawled, and Tezuka arched an eyebrow at him.

"I'm sure I'll manage. So will, I trust, Sanada."

The last part was equal parts a jibe and a warning. Atobe did not answer, and lifted his cup instead, and the _geisha_ with delicately embroidered _tomesode_ (10) bent forward, pouring the _sake_ with meticulous attentiveness. Tezuka put his teacup down, and did not refuse this time when Kiyosato offered him a _sake_ cup in its place.

Instead of tossing it down, Tezuka took a long sip, letting the liquid curl in his mouth, savoring. His thoughts turned to the _koto_ player under wisteria tree from a few days ago, and Tezuka closed his eyes, half-imagining the scent of wisteria wrap around him, spreading through him like the warm _sake_.

 **END OF PART I**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 一. 藤棚の君 [등나무시렁의 만남] 「ふじだなのきみ」, or _"Fujidana no Kimi"_. Loosely following the format of Genji Monogatari appellations, I meant it to be read as "Lady of Wisteria Trellis". The original "girl of wisteria trellis" is actually from (please don't laugh) Clamp Campus Detectives, when Suoh met Nagisa. Having no convenient Korean equivalent, the Korean title is "The Meeting at the Wisteria Trellis". Er, ignore how there's no trellis there...
> 
> [2] _koto_. Thirteen-stringed Japanese zither. Actually, when I first wrote this, I really had gayageum - the traditional Korean version of zither - in mind. They sound similar, but koto has a stand whereas gayageum doesn't, and gayageum traditionally doesn't require any finger picks, unlike koto. Traditionally, gayageum is considered a woman's instrument as the flute is a man's.
> 
> [3] _shoji_. Sliding doors or windows (or even room dividers) made of wooden frame and paper (white and translucent to let light through), used in traditional Japanese buildings.
> 
> [4] red collar vs. white collar. I'm not sure how strict geisha/maiko system would have been in early 1800s, but current tradition is to have maiko dress with red collar, and geisha (geiko) with white collar. The maiko switched to white collar at the conclusion of coming-of-the-age ceremony (mizuage).
> 
> [5] _tayuu_. Basically, the highest-class among the courtesans (also called oiran, espeically in Edo (Tokyo) area). Tayuu/Oiran opted for much more elaborate costumes (with obi tied to the front) and hairdoes, bare feet, (really) high-platform geta, and multitude of jewelries (all of which geisha did not go for), and were known as "castle topplers" because of their expenses that patrons had to scramble for. Their roles were a bit complicated; they also practiced music and art (and even gambling, sometimes) to entertain their patrons, but sexual element was undeniable part of it, too. The geisha used to entertain along with tayuu/oiran, but later became even more popular than tayuu/oiran, taking more of the artistic side of the business. Geisha weren't prostitutes - that is to say, that wasn't their "day job". (If they did grant sexual favors to their customers, they were compensated for their time.) One of the ways to distinguish the geisha from prostitutes (yujou, "pleasure women") was their obi: prostitutes tied their obi at the front (sign of accessibility, as it were), and geisha/maiko properly at the back.
> 
> [6] _kabuki_. One of traditional Japanese theater. Originally, there were female kabuki performers in theaters, but problems arose because many of the actresses took on extra earnings via prostitution. Eventually women were banned from theater (1652, according to Wikipedia), but all that did was to substitute young boys for women. Both on the stage, and off it. XD
> 
> [7] _Flower Town_ , or "Hana Machi" [花街] was the euphemism for pleasure quarters, Shimabara and Gion being the leading regions within Kyoto. Both teahouses (where many geisha worked) and brothels existed in these.
> 
> [8] _shamisen_. Three-stringed, banjo-like instrument, almost a trademark for geisha.
> 
> [9] _Li Wu_. 李煜 [이욱] | (937 ~ 978). Also known as Li Honzhu (李後主). Last prince/emperor of Southern Tang [南唐], which fell to Song [宋], and often blamed for the fall of Southern Tang. A famous poet of his own right, despite his less savory reputation of being a failure as a ruler. One of his poems will be quoted later on, though that one isn't his most famous work. One of his best-known work is actually Concubine Yu, immortalized as a Cantonese opera, and a central theme in the movie _Farewell My Concubine (1993)_.
> 
> [10] _tomesode_. Married women's kimono, with shorter sleeves. In comparison, the furisode, the maiden's kimono, has long sleeves that reach to the ankles. Naturally, maiko wore furisode, and geisha tomesode. Geisha's kimono, however, generally had longer sleeves on both versions (called hikizuri, "trailing sleeves"), and came padded at the hem, so it would pan out gracefully when they danced and spun.


	2. 二. 明月 (명월) [Bright Moon]

**二. 明月 (명월)** (1)

Tezuka was moderately surprised to receive Atobe's invitation four days later. Atobe tended to spend at least a week or more whenever he went to visit Shimabara. Perhaps this visit had yielded little fruits?

Feeling more charitable than usual, Tezuka made sure to take his flute with him when he left his house. When he arrived, even before he reached the main building, the clear sound of koto made his heart lurch. He knew Atobe didn't play koto, and there was something hauntingly familiar about the particular glide and tremor.

"Fujidana no Kimi (2)." It was out of his mouth even before he thought to stop it. Today, curling petals of peony on green silk replaced the splash of wisteria, but under the gentle upsweep of light brown hair, it was the koto player from before.

The song trailed off, not abruptly, but without the finality of a true ending. Atobe stared at him, surprised.

"You know each other?" he looked from one to the other, and the koto player smiled.

"We have not been introduced, though I believe this is not the first time."

"This is the one I told you about." Atobe was clearly wondering where they could possibly have met each other, given this was Tezuka. "My friend, Tezuka."

The koto player bowed to him. "I am called Akizuki (3)." The folded hands peeking just under the sleeves were white and slender, but though light and sweet, the voice was unmistakably that of a male. "It is an honor to meet you."

Tezuka inclined his head. "It's a pleasure."

"I hope you will generously forgive my...impertinence from last time." Akizuki's tone was respectful, observing every stringent courtesy of those in his profession, yet nothing about him was feminine or even subservient. Tezuka shook his head, dismissing the apology.

"I hope another occasion will serve us better."

"You have my full attention, now," Atobe said, looking bemused. "Just where did you two meet?"

The two of them exchanged a look, but neither volunteered an answer, and Atobe snorted. "Oh, fine. But I hope you came prepared today, Tezuka?"

Tezuka knew Atobe didn't need to ask; Atobe's keen eyes had not missed the long, slender silk pouch tucked under his sleeve.

"Since you cut short Akizuki's performance, it's only fair you should take up the flow."

Tezuka debated baiting back, but was more curious to see if he would be accompanied. He silently unwrapped the flute, and lifted it.

From the start Tezuka felt blue eyes on him, scanning him with an unreadable expression. He continued through the first part of the tune, adding no flourish, and was mildly disappointed to hear no answer. Out of the corner of his eyes, however, he saw a white hand not so casually resting on the silk strings, and changed his mind.

Atobe frowned, still recognizing the tune despite the sudden variation, but puzzled. Tezuka was a superb musician, but one renowned for precise execution and mastery, not inventiveness. Then he understood when the koto's vibrant strain blended into the song. It was not the most logical place to join, yet the overall effect was that the music simply gained what it had been missing before.

Tezuka, however, went on as if he hadn't noticed it. Swift as the flowing streams and just as variable, the flute did not coax or cajole, but challenged, dared, and the koto answered and challenged back in turn, pushing ahead.

Each cadence was a dance, neither quite leading nor following, but weaving a story of sound and beat with each rise and fall. Finally, the two came to a rest, and trailed off.

There was a brief silence, then Atobe started clapping. The two performers finally looked at each other, then bowed to each other, ceremonious, to same depths - the bow of equals.

"That was exquisite," Atobe said, and there was a rare, frank note of admiration in his voice. "Have you two done this before? It was different from your usual style."

"Once..." Akizuki murmured, eyes lowered once again. "Though I fear it was an intrusion on my part."

"It wasn't." A gentle smile remained on Akizuki's face, like a beautifully painted mask, and Tezuka frowned, studying the other with undisguised intensity.

"What is your name?"

The smile widened. "The geisha have but one name, Tezuka-han." The pale hand lifted from its perch on the koto, disappearing under the sleeve. "But you gave me another name before, if it still pleases you."

"Quite poetic, too." Atobe added with amusement. "And classic. It suits you well."

Akizuki smiled, but did not comment.

"'In this deep wood no one would know / Only the bright moon comes to shine' (4)."

Both Atobe and Akizuki looked at him, but Tezuka's eyes were fastened on Akizuki. Frank surprised was etched on Atobe's face.

"'Is moonlight the river? Is river the heaven? Where is the one who gazed at the moon with me?' (5)," was the mild rejoinder, and surprise once again flickered in Atobe's eyes. Just then, one of Atobe's serving women made her presence known, bringing more snack and zhuyeqing (6). It was only after they were walking in the garden that Atobe drew him aside, and Tezuka, quietly impressed by Atobe's uncharacteristic show of patience, followed.

"This isn't like you, Tezuka." The sound of shamisen was crisp, the descent of autumn in a spring garden. "I wanted to introduce him to you because he _is_ an exceptional artist. But it isn't like you to court a geisha's attention."

"I just wanted to know his name," Tezuka said, not defensive.

"For someone from the floating world (7)?" Atobe's voice turned sharp. "For the love of...you were quoting Wang Wei, Tezuka."

"And he responded with Zhao Gu."

"So?"

He knew his answer would annoy Atobe, but decided it was worth it to see the reaction. "So he's as well-read as you said."

Atobe did not rise to the bait, his expression serious, with no trace of jest or sarcasm. "I did wonder myself under what circumstances he entered Flower Town. The floating world is no place for a boy with the kind of refinement he has. But whatever his story, he is a geisha, Tezuka. You would do well to remember that."

"He is an artist," Tezuka pointed out, not entirely certain why Atobe was so set on this.

"A paid one! So pay him for his arts. Exchange poetry and letters, if you'd like. Buy his favors, if you must, but - _you asked for his name_. You have no idea what you are asking for here."

Tezuka did not answer, struck by Atobe's tone. Atobe studied him for a long moment, then turned back toward the pavilion, where the strain of the shamisen filled the evening air.

"Just remember that I warned you," Atobe said in a low voice, and started walking. After a moment, Tezuka followed the suit.

As the evening wore on, Tezuka's eyes often strayed to the movement of the beautiful hands, the graceful curve of the slender neck, and the flash of white, even teeth that accompanied a smile. Atobe wasn't watching him anymore, but the warning in his glance was as startling as the blue of Akizuki's eyes, half-hidden under the rise and fall of long lashes.

For a rare moment, Tezuka let himself fall, immersed in the scented evening breeze, and the warm fragrance of zhuyeqing .

**END OF PART II**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The geisha in this story use "-han" for honorific rather than "-san" - it's a Kyoto thing. You can see an example of it in _Peacemaker Kurogane_!
> 
> [1] 二. 明月 [명월]. Generally it would be read "meigetsu", to mean "bright moon". It can be a poetic way of referring to the full moon as well. Parentheses contain the Korean reading, which is "myeong wol".
> 
> [2] Tezuka may or may not have noticed Akizuki is not a lady in Part I - I'll leave it to your imagination.
> 
> [3] _Akizuki_. This is an invented reading for 明月, from a friend's suggestion, to (arbitrarily) double as a pun for autumn moon. This is the geimei, or stage name, for him. I chose this in honor of Korea's most famous courtesan, Hwang Jin-Yi (1500s), whose stage name was Myeong-Wol.
> 
> [4] Quoted from "Bamboo Adobe" [竹里館] by Wang Wei [王維], a famous Tang [唐] poet. Poems that I present here are all from Korean sources, so there may be some discrepancy between the version I have and the Chinese version.
> 
> 獨坐幽篁裡  
> 彈琴復長嘯  
> 深林人不知  
> 明月來相照
> 
> I sit along in the dark bamboo grove,  
> Playing the zither and whistling long.  
> In this deep wood no one would know -  
> Only the bright moon comes to shine.
> 
> I have no clue who translated it. I found this English translation off the web and used in the story. "Bright moon" being an obvious reference to Akizuki.
> 
> [5] Quoted from "From Riverside Pavilion" [江樓書懷] by Zhao Gu [趙蝦], another one of the famous Tang poets.
> 
> 獨上江樓思悄然  
> 月光如水水如天  
> 同來翫月人何在  
> 風景依稀似去年
> 
> My heart is sorrowful as I stand in the riverside pavilion  
> The moonlight is like the river and the river is like the heaven  
> Where is the one who gazed at the moon with me? [Text is closer to "enjoyed" than "gazed".]  
> Only the scenery is unchanged from last year.
> 
> My own translation. I used a more "flowy" version for the in-story quotation.
> 
> [6] _zhuyeqing_. [竹葉青] "Bamboo Leaf Green". A high-class Chinese rice wine containing 10 different herbs and bamboo leaves, dating back (presumably) to the Warring States Period (400-200 BC). It's supposed to have wholesome quality thanks to the herbs, and leave you hangover-free the morning after.
> 
> [7] _floating world (ukiyo)_. Wikipedia article says: "Usually the word ukiyo is literally translated as "floating world" in English, referring to a conception of an evanescent world, impermanent, fleeting beauty and a realm of entertainments (kabuki, courtesans, geisha) divorced from the responsibilities of the mundane, everyday world."


	3. 三. 鈴蘭 [Lily of the Valley]

**三. 鈴蘭 (영란)** (1)

Dark eyes were fastened on him, glimmering through the dainty flutter of the fan. Tezuka did his best not to shift, to give away any discomfort. The sway of _hikizuri kimono_ (2) sleeves accompanied the snap of the golden fan, and the dancer gracefully turned, just a glimpse of a _tabi_ (3) visible under the cascade of heavy silk. Another swing of the sleeves, and the dancer's legs folded in a swirl of silk, bowing deeply.

There was a moment of silence before the lord put his cup down, and clapped. Everyone else joined in, exclaiming they had never seen such an exquisite dance. The lord gestured for the dancer to approach, which he did with respectful yet noticeably coquettish movements. Tezuka, puzzled by the dancer's strangely focused gaze on him earlier, mutely watched while his lord complimented the geisha.

"Quite rare, isn't it? To see a male..."

"...haven't heard about Atobe's latest flame? That famous one from White Plum Teahouse..."

Tezuka glanced across the room at Atobe, who looked utterly oblivious about the number of times his name had come up in today's conversations.

"...hear he's quite a beauty..."

"...wouldn't mind sampling this one..."

The dancer seemed as deaf to the flow of conversations as Atobe, pouring _sake_ for the lord with artful delicacy. Tezuka frowned; he couldn't help comparing this courtesan and his artificial, cold grace to Akizuki, who moved naturally and almost carelessly, yet had fluid beauty and serenity in his movements, as if simply born with it.

At the lord's request, the courtesan sat next to the musicians and took up a _shamisen_. His style was opulent, with the kind of flourishes an average player would not dare. There was no question he was an accomplished musician, yet...

"How do you find tonight's performance, Tezuka?" There was a brief silence around him, seconds after the lord addressed him. Feeling eyes and ears on him, Tezuka wondered if he should opt for a more diplomatic approach. "I hear you and Atobe were the only ones lucky enough to enjoy the performance of the other one, that..." The lord's eyes swept across the room and back.

"Akizuki, Lord," Atobe supplied. He seemed to be watching Tezuka just as carefully.

Tezuka did not look away from the lord. "They have very distinct styles."

"And having heard both, which would you judge superior?"

There was a genuine curiosity laced in the lord's voice - a question reserved for a friend, asking for an honest opinion.

"If the lord will forgive my impertinence..." Disbelieving gazes turned to the speaker, startled that a lowly courtesan would dare interrupt the lord's conversation. But the lord seemed to be in an indulgent mood.

"Go on."

"Akizuki is far superior compared to this one's unworthy skills with _shamisen_ ," the courtesan said with a bow. "And with poetry and _koto_ as well." The lord nodded, pleased by the show of modesty and deference from one who was obviously quite accomplished himself. However, there was a glint of well-hidden malice, of cruel satisfaction, in the courtesan's eyes just before he lowered his gaze.

"Furthermore, Akizuki is an unparalleled prodigy of dance."

Atobe also turned mildly surprised glance to him, by which Tezuka guessed this was news to him as well. The lord now looked genuinely interested.

"How is it that I never heard of this? A superb _koto_ and _shamisen_ player, and a poet besides - but I haven't heard that he also dances." The fleeting frown was aimed at his aide-de-camp, who bowed with mute apology.

"If you would forgive this one, Lord...Akizuki is far too humble to show his talents to others." The courtesan bowed, very picture of respectfulness. "But surely he would not refuse an order from you."

"Very well. What are you called again?"

"Suzuran, Lord."

"It would be interesting to see both of your dances, and judge for myself which is better. Your dance was no mean one just now. I am curious to see if this Akizuki truly surpasses you."

The triumphant gleam was easier to discern this time, and Tezuka watched the courtesan bow. "I pray such a chance will come soon, Lord. It would be my deepest pleasure to fulfill your wishes."

Atobe's eyes met his across the room, and the warning in his gaze was as clear as a spoken one. Tezuka looked away, back at the lord, who had already begun conversing with another samurai near him, the subject of Suzuran and Akizuki seemingly forgotten.

* * *

"He's a snake, that one," was what Atobe said about Suzuran, when they met for tea the next day. "Scheming, conniving - he reminds me too much of the imperial court."

"You've never objected to them before," Tezuka pointed out. Atobe made a dismissive sound.

"Those at the imperial court are fools. They think all their schemes _mean_ something, never realizing they aren't getting anywhere. But that one - he tried to use the lord for whatever petty squabble he has with his peers. _That_ displeases me."

"The lord isn't so easily manipulated."

"On affairs of the state, maybe. But in this - the lord won't care. There is nothing to be lost or gained."

"Isn't that the same for you?"

Atobe shot him a shrewd glance. "Yes, it is. And that's why I dislike that little snake."

"Who can judge what is petty squabble and what is not?" Tezuka's voice was neutral, his question more rhetoric than anything, but Atobe answered.

"Whatever jealousies and rivalries the courtesans have are bound to be petty. Those affect only a few, in a series of meaningless events. Their wins and losses matter to no one but them." Atobe's expression was sardonic. "Their lives have very little consequences."

"Does that make their troubles petty?"

Atobe's eyes were cool. "From our point of view, yes."

"You mean your point of view." Tezuka was mostly amused at Atobe's contradictory answer, and it probably showed.

"Ours," Atobe said firmly, for a moment his gaze penetrating, hard. "And you should remember that."

His friend's moods rarely phased Tezuka, but the stern warning stayed with him - until a letter arrived. There were only four lines of a poem in exquisite calligraphy:

"Bluest of blue sleeve brings sorrow to my heart  
Even if I cannot go, how is it that you are silent?  
Bluest of blue jewel brings sorrow to my thought  
Even if I cannot go, how is it that you do not come?" (4)

Remembering his azure kimono, which he had worn the day he met Akizuki, he could not help a smile. Couple days later they met at the wisteria pavilion. And the day after, at Tezuka's house. Then at the teahouse where Akizuki worked. Then at a private house Akizuki owned.

Tezuka knew he was falling, but could not bring himself to care. While they were together, time seemed to stand still. In their eternal spring, the rest of the world faded away under the melody of flute and _koto_ , and dissolved in the strains of _shamisen_.

* * *

He had not entirely forgotten Atobe's warning, and uncertain about Akizuki's motives, had asked, as delicately as possible, what was the amount Akizuki desired in return for the companionship.

Akizuki's eyes had flashed, which he quickly masked with a smile, and responded: "The most precious thing you can give, Tezuka-han."

Tezuka had been at a loss until Akizuki glanced at the flute with a smile. So he had played for him, had read him his _haiku_ and _waka_ (5), the few he had been able to compose without feeling self-conscious. Akizuki was delighted, and if not, why would he consent to see Tezuka almost every day out of his busy schedule?

* * *

It was nearly a month after Akizuki first sent for him that Tezuka ran into Suzuran again, at the White Plum Teahouse. Suzuran's eyes flashed darkly when he observed Akizuki sitting next to him, but bowed with all the requisite courtesy and grace.

"It is fortunate that Tezuka-han is here. I believe he would make a better judge for the contest," Suzuran said after the initial pleasantry, eyes glittering like cold gemstones.

To Tezuka's surprise, Akizuki ignored him, only looking up at the last minute with a bland smile. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

Suzuran's hands tightened at his sides, but he pressed his lips in a tighter line, and answered. "It can't be that Tezuka-han did not mention it to you?" Short pause. "The Lord of Aizu (6) has heard of your exceptional talent at dance, and wanted to see for himself which of us is the better dancer." There was a barely-suppressed snarl under his sweet voice. "But perhaps Tezuka-han would be a better judge? His integrity is a legend, after all."

Akizuki showed no visible reaction, but the hand that caressed _koto_ strings was too careful. "Is that so? Strange that the Lord of Aizu should know about my dance, as I've never danced since my debut."

Suzuran's smile could have frozen water. "I saw no reason to hide such exceptional skills as yours, Akizuki. Everyone knows our teacher favored you as her best student." A malicious curl of lips showed a hint of pearly teeth. "Unless, of course, you fear your talent has become rusty over the years. But that could hardly be, for a prodigy such as yourself -"

"Forgive me, but I _am_ entertaining a guest." Akizuki's tone had a strange, condescending ring to it, as if speaking to a particularly slow and unruly child. "Perhaps some other time."

So venomous was Suzuran's expression, Tezuka half-expected him to hiss. Despite his murderous gaze, however, Suzuran controlled himself.

"Of course." He bowed to Tezuka, his expression once again coquettish. "Enjoy your stay, Tezuka-han. Perhaps you would accept this one's invitation next time. For tea."

Tezuka inclined his head slightly, feeling the sudden stillness that wrapped around Akizuki like a cloak. "Thank you for the invitation, though I do not know when I will be able to visit again."

"Not too long, I hope," Suzuran smiled, and the invitation was as clear as day, dripping from the honeyed voice. "Good day."

Tezuka's eyes were back on Akizuki even before the door closed. Akizuki was still, eyes fixed on his motionless hands. He tried to speak, but was gently yet firmly interrupted.

"I think we'd best finish here today, Tezuka-han."

Tezuka looked at the brittle set of Akizuki's shoulder, the stiffness of hands resting on the _koto_ , and got up silently.

"'So I pray, someday soon, in another night's dream / At once, together, may we meet on the same road' (7)," Tezuka quoted, and startled blue eyes rose to meet his. For a moment he held his breath, taken aback by the pain and vulnerability of those wide eyes. Next moment, Akizuki dropped his eyes, looking at his hands again.

"I will send word later, Tezuka-han."

Quietly, Tezuka left, sliding the door close behind him. He walked along the river for a long time, soaked in the pale light of the waning moon.

Akizuki did not send for him the next day. Instead, it was Atobe who dropped by uninvited.

"What the hell were you thinking?" was the first thing out of Atobe's mouth. Atobe's uncharacteristically graceless movements told him his friend was genuinely annoyed. So Tezuka poured him tea, waiting for Atobe to supply more information before he answered. Atobe did, after a quick sip.

"I did wonder about it when you didn't request to be sent out as you usually do. The entire city is alight with gossip, Tezuka. About you, and that geisha of yours." Tezuka hadn't thought he would escape the rumor mill, but hadn't realized it would work so quickly. He sipped his tea, waiting for Atobe to finish. "Is it true you spent last month in his company?"

"More or less." There was no point denying it.

Atobe scowled at him. "And when I told you to be careful, were you listening at all?"

"I usually don't."

That brought a wry smile to Atobe's face. "Too true. I should have expected this." Atobe sipped his tea, calmer, but still annoyed. "The problem is Akizuki. Anyone else, the gossip wouldn't have reached the proportion it has. But Akizuki is well known in the Flower Town. He's famous for never showing such favors to any one patron. And you, who'd never set a foot inside Shimabara before, all but live there for better part of a month." His gaze over the steam was shaded with concern. "The lord knows. He hasn't made any comments yet, but gods know there are enough mouths talking."

"Is it such a problem?" Tezuka asked quietly. He was staring at the steam rising from his cup, his eyes pensive, and Atobe raised an eyebrow. Then his expression softened, just a little.

"Not in itself. But - everyone knows how much the lord favors you. Your records, until now, have been frighteningly spotless, or you wouldn't have lived this long without some bastard disgracing you one way or another. This is too much of a golden opportunity to be missed."

Tezuka was silent. Atobe studied him, knowing the threat would hardly make a dent. He had always trusted Tezuka could handle whatever came in his path, but looking at Tezuka's expression, Atobe couldn't dismiss a nagging doubt. Those lower down in the power ladder were more intrigued by the supposed romance between the Kyoto Tiger (8), famous for his samurai virtue and personal integrity, and the bewitching courtesan Akizuki, who purportedly had a dozen lords in the palm of his hand. What deliciously forbidden love! Even the discipline of a lifetime was helpless before the fairest courtesan of the city...!

Atobe knew better than to believe the fairytale spun over the two of them. But Akizuki... Would Akizuki prove to be the single, fatal chink in Tezuka's armor?

He turned his eyes back to the tea and took a long sip, trying to calm and center his thoughts once more.

 **END OF PART III**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deviation from real history/culture of this time becomes more problematic from this chapter on. Again, take the historical/cultural background here with a grain of salt. (Or a whole saltshaker, if you'd like.) Also, ignore how I keep fluttering between italicizing and not italicizing some of the terms.
> 
> [1] 鈴蘭「すずらん」[영란] "Suzuran" (Korean: "Yeong-Lan"). Lily-of-the-valley. Called "Silver Bells" in Korean. In this fic, Suzuran is also a geimei (like Akizuki), not personal name.
> 
> [2] _hikizuri kimono_. "Trailing" kimono with longer sleeves and padded hem, mentioned in notes for Part I, under [10] tomesode.
> 
> [3] _tabi_. Traditional Japanese socks. What sets it apart from other socks? There is a separation between the big toe and other toes, to make it convenient for Japanese footwear like geta or zori. Basically, you could wear a pair of tabi with your flip-flops.
> 
> [4] Excerpt from 「子衿」 ("Your Sleeve"), taken from 「詩經鄭風」.
> 
> 靑靑子衿 悠悠我心,  
> 縱我不往 子寧不嗣音.  
> 靑靑子佩 悠悠我思,  
> 縱我不往 子寧不來.  
> 桃兮達兮 在城闕兮,  
> 一日不見 如三月兮.
> 
> Bluest of blue sleeve brings sorrow to my heart  
> Even if I cannot go, how is it that you are silent?  
> Bluest of blue jewel brings sorrow to my thought  
> Even if I cannot go, how is it that you do not come?  
> Coming and going, though you must be in this castle,  
> One day without seeing you is like three months.
> 
> Supposedly a poem from a woman chiding her lover for his negligence. This is my own translation based on three different Korean translations. Throughout the whole poem, he/his could be substituted for you/your, and she/her for I/my, but I felt it flows better like this.
> 
> [5] _waka_. A genre of traditional Japanese poetry. Most of the poems used in Genji Monogatari are waka.
> 
> [6] _Lord of Aizu_. Tezuka and Atobe's (and Sanada's) lord. In 1800s, Aizu-han was under the rule of Matsudaira clan. What on earth is the daimyo of Aizu doing in Kyoto? XD Actually, I don't know if Aizu-han had anything to do with Kyoto (which was one of the land/cities directly under the Shogun) until Bakumatsu, when the daimyo of Aizu (Matsudaira Katamori) was appointed as the military commissioner of Kyoto (1862). (Aizu clan had some ties to Shinsengumi as well.) Call it a long-term assignment from the Shogun, or an extended visit to the Imperial Court. Whichever works. Matsudaira clan made better sense (in my mind) than say, Maeda, Shimazu, or Ikeda clan.
> 
> [7] Excerpt from Hwang Jin-Yi's "Sang Sa Mong" ("A Dream of My Beloved").
> 
> 相思夢 [상사몽] by 黃眞伊 [황진이]
> 
> 相思相見只憑夢  
> 儂訪歡時歡訪儂  
> 願使遙遙他夜夢  
> 一時同作路中逢
> 
> I miss you, and the only way to see you is in the dreams  
> When I came seeking you, you went away seeking me;  
> So I pray, someday soon, in another night's dream  
> At once, together, may we meet on the same road.
> 
> My own translation. One of best known poems by Hwang Jin-Yi. The literal translation of the title is "a dream of thinking of each other".
> 
> [8] 京都の虎 「きょうとのとら」 "Kyouto no Tora". How long had Tezuka and the Aizu court been in Kyoto to get him this nickname? Er, no one ever said this fic was going to make sense.


	4. 四. 竹里館 [Bamboo Adobe]

**四. 竹里館 (죽리관)**

It wasn't that Tezuka disregarded Atobe's warnings. It was just that his days at home were so dull that when Akizuki's invitation came, he accepted without thinking twice.

They never really talked much when together, but the afternoon found them even quieter, only the lone sound of shamisen filling the air. The garden was quiet, separated from the rest of the city by thick foliage and calls of the insects, but today, it made him even more conscious of the silence.

"Is it true that you're a dancer?" The question came out of nowhere, and Tezuka was surprised to hear himself. The pause of the shamisen was so brief, he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching.

" _Was_ , Tezuka-han."

"And you will not dance. Not even for -" he paused, stopping his words mid-thought, and finished, "the Lord of Aizu."

Akizuki smiled and did not answer.

"You're not playing koto today?" The koto was nowhere in sight. Though Tezuka had brought the flute, Akizuki's shamisen never invited other sounds.

"Not today, Tezuka-han." His words were accompanied by a smile so sweet, one could have forgiven him for murder. Akizuki was dressed to his finest perfection that day: blue that put the sky to shame, yellow of the spring forsythia, and tinkling silver and turquoise hairpins. He waited on Tezuka with an attentive solicitousness that somehow irritated him, and Tezuka left early that day.

Akizuki poured himself a cup of sake after Tezuka left, shamisen left propped on the wall. A breeze stirred the hydrangea in full bloom, shaking the petals, and Akizuki shivered despite the warm weather. A name that should have been forgotten came to his lips, unbidden.

"Don't worry," he murmured softly. "I haven't forgotten."

The petals stilled as the breeze died down. Akizuki took another sip of the sake, his breath a sigh over the clear liquid.

"And I never will."

A humorless smile touched his lips, and Akizuki leaned on the wall. Even sake tasted sour on days like this, steeped in regret and warmed with weariness. With another soft exhalation, he closed his eyes.

* * *

When Akizuki returned to White Plum Teahouse that evening, he found the whole place in a stir. His plans to quietly retire quickly became useless, because one of the younger maiko burst into his room.

"Akizuki-onii-san, where have you been? The mistress has been looking for you all afternoon." Her pretty brows wrinkled. "Don't tell me you were with Tezuka-han again? The mistress will be furious. You haven't been seeing even half the customers who asked for you, and -"

"What does the mistress want with me?" He was usually more patient, but he was tired and wanted nothing more than to rest. The maiko was unfazed.

"She won't say. But..." she lowered her voice, biting her lip and looking every bit like a little girl she should have been. "I heard the Shogun has asked to see you."

His head rose mechanically. "What?"

"The Shogun. He's visiting Kyoto this month? He must have heard about you from the samurai who serve the Lord of Aizu, since a lot of them came to see you recently."

When Akizuki arrived, only the top senior geisha were in the mistress's quarters. Suzuran's dark eyes were ablaze, occasionally sweeping over him with hatred. The mistress was saying what an honor it was, that one of her students would be called to entertain the Shogun! Akizuki only half-listened to her, feeling uninterested and uncaring about everything.

"No, perhaps a dance would..." Suzuran was saying, and Akizuki turned his head, snapped back to here and now.

"But this child hasn't danced in four years! Surely, the koto and..." One of the senior geisha was objecting. The mistress looked from one to the other, placid expression giving away nothing. Akizuki knew he was probably smiling just a bit, his customary expression to mask his emotions, and envied the mistress for her composure.

"The Shogun hasn't specified what he wishes to see," the mistress finally said. Her gaze swept through the room, instantly silencing the others, and came to rest on Akizuki's face. "Prepare what you would. You will perform before many lords and their favored courtesans and musicians." She paused. "No one else from our teahouse has been invited, and I will not forget my place and appear uninvited. I trust you will do fine on your own."

Akizuki bowed his head, relieved no one else would be going. Some of the younger girls openly idolized him, and many of the older geisha - and especially Suzuran - hated him. He didn't care much about what they thought, but disliked having to deal with them while he was performing. After the mistress's announcement, there wasn't much to discuss, and Akizuki bowed to her and withdrew.

* * *

He dreamed.

He dreamed of a familiar shrine, of faded leaves strewn on the ground, and the white and red attire of a shrine maiden. With a start he realized his body was moving automatically, following the familiar steps of the shrine maiden's ceremonial dance. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop. A pair of wide, unblinking eyes watched him. He could not look away.

"You blame me too, don't you?" he asked, but his voice would not come. Nevertheless, he knew the boy had heard him. The boy's eyes weren't icy with hatred, like his father's had been, but in life, they had never been so expressionless, either.

"I'm not going to apologize," he mouthed. His eyes burned.

The boy's eyes softened, and he slowly shook his head, looking rueful. The expression was so nostalgic, Akizuki's breath caught in his throat. The wind swept up the leaves, pelting his body with fallen leaves, and haul of the wind drowned out the boy's words.

Akizuki awoke before the first light, feeling frozen.

* * *

The Shogun was greatly pleased by his skills with koto and shamisen, his grasp on poetry and literature, and his poise. And the Shogun richly rewarded him, both with jewels and by taking him to bed. Akizuki withdrew from the Shogun's bedchamber in the morning, but it wasn't until midday that he returned to the teahouse, tired and worn.

Just his luck, Akizuki thought to himself, with a bitter sort of humor, that he would run into Suzuran first.

"Not quite the triumphant entry," Suzuran said pleasantly. "Was the Shogun displeased with your performance?"

"Then he would have sent me back yesterday." Akizuki made to pass by him, but Suzuran nimbly stepped in the way.

"I was referring to your performance in bed."

"Were you?" His friendly voice was one breath shy of openly mocking. "If you'd let the mistress know your willingness to make up for my deficiencies in that area, I'm sure she would have let you tag along." His smile was venomous. "After all, the men you've spent the night with couldn't talk enough about your...talent." He was tired and his temper was fraying at the edges. Suzuran was prodding at what he had no business prodding, and he'd been sick and tired of Suzuran lately.

"Your _only_ talent, that is."

Suzuran was quick, but Akizuki was quicker. Hard slap of a hand grabbing a thin wrist in mid-strike, and Suzuran winced, trying to wrench his wrist out of Akizuki's grip. Akizuki held him with surprising strength, and the unsmiling eyes bored into him. Suzuran swallowed.

"Let go."

"Yes. Scurry back to the shadows and eavesdrop and scheme to your heart's content. But do not cross me. I've better things to do." The contempt in Akizuki's eyes cut deep, and Suzuran pressed his lips in a thin line.

"Don't be so arrogant just because you've got a bit of talent."

The look that crossed Akizuki's eyes was a mixture of amusement and irony. He released Suzuran and pushed past him.

"Coward."

Akizuki did not stop or turn.

"You strut in here and play at being a geisha, and why? All because your little lover's death."

Akizuki froze mid-step, back stiff. A malicious smile spread on Suzuran's face, realizing he'd hit home. "Everyone knows you showed up in the garb of a shrine maiden. No one knows the truth though, do they? You're just dabbling in arts because your little love died on you," Suzuran hissed. "Hypocrite. For us, this is life. For you, it's nothing but an escape, a place you can flaunt your talents. Why don't you dance, Akizuki? Would your dead lover be angry that you -"

Faster than he could blink, Akizuki slammed him into the wall. For a moment Suzuran saw stars, stunned, and clawed blindly at the hand squeezing his throat. Icy blue eyes swam into his focus, and Suzuran forgot to struggle, forgot to breathe, frozen by the death he saw in the depthless gaze. For a wild moment, Suzuran believed Akizuki would kill him right then and there, but Akizuki pushed away as if burned. With all the lethal grace of a tiger, Akizuki stalked down the hallway toward his room, and Suzuran finally breathed, gingerly touching his throat. He was shivering.

Suzuran swallowed his tears, angry that Akizuki could frighten him so. He shakily made his way to the kitchen and slapped the maid who fetched him tea, taking cold comfort in the familiar viciousness. Suzuran retired, but could not rest, torn between fury and envy. Being a male in Flower Town invariably meant low status, whether as a servant, a kabuki actor, or a prostitute. As a small child Suzuran had vowed he would never settle for such a place in life. To get where he was now, Suzuran had had to work harder than anyone else in his teahouse. Eventually he found his body just as useful as his arts to gain status, but not Akizuki; Akizuki might have sold his art, but his favor he would barter with courtship. How Akizuki got away with his games, evading impatient demands of the patrons, he had no idea, but it galled him. Worst of all, Akizuki, who was the first male geisha to be summoned by the Shogun, acted like such honor meant nothing. That one person could hold so much, have everything, yet act as if he didn't need them in the first place...it made him grind his teeth in frustration. Then, what did that make those like Suzuran, who had to crawl and scrabble to get where they were?

Suzuran clutched the comforter tightly, unsuccessfully trying to sleep.

* * *

Within a day, from officials at the imperial court to lowly pageboy, the whole population of Kyoto knew Akizuki had been summoned by the Shogun, and amply praised and rewarded for his performance. Tezuka had always prided himself in his ability to tune out other people, but he found it utterly unhelpful this time.

Either the courtiers had a lot less work to do in their days than he thought, or the people of the city had quite a vivid imagination. Every detail was described, from the fine embroidery on Akizuki's kimono to how the Shogun had looked at him, mesmerized, pouring sake for Akizuki with his own hands, and how the whole night, the Shogun's eyes had rested on Akizuki alone. How Akizuki was allowed to leave the Shogun's bedchamber only after the sun had risen high in the sky, so pleased was the Shogun.

Tezuka clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. Akizuki was a geisha, an entertainer. The Shogun was de facto the ruler of Japan. Akizuki had _no right_ to refuse the Shogun's favors - in fact, couldn't expect to survive were he to refuse such an 'honor.'

The wall shook with impact where his fist had landed. Surprised bystanders hurried on after one look at his face. Tezuka saw none of them.

* * *

Four days later, Akizuki received a letter from Tezuka. Calling himself thrice the fool for the joy trembling in his heart, he unfolded the paper, and could not help a soft sound, halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

"I sit alone in the dark bamboo grove,  
Playing with the zither and whistling long.  
In this deep wood no one would know -  
Only the bright moon comes to shine."

Quietly he slipped out, taking care no one from the teahouse saw him leave. His steps were purposeful, destination clear and certain in his mind. As he expected, he found Tezuka in the old pavilion hidden in the depths of a bamboo grove. The lone sound of the flute was clear and stately in the quiet of the grove.

"My heart is sorrowful as I stand in the riverside pavilion  
Is moonlight the river? Is river the heaven?  
Where is the one who gazed at the moon with me?  
Only the scenery is unchanged from last year."

The flute stopped, and Tezuka turned to him with a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"You should smile more," Akizuki said, crossing the wooden floor to join him.

"And you should smile less," Tezuka countered. "Especially when you don't _want_ to smile."

"I am a geisha, merely a flower that understands speech." Akizuki's voice was carefully neutral.

"Have I ever treated you as one?"

Akizuki did not answer for a long moment. "No."

"'I miss you, and the only way to see you is in the dreams / When I came seeking you, you went away seeking me'," Tezuka murmured, holding out a hand to him, and Akizuki took it.

"'So I pray, someday soon, in another night's dream / At once, together, may we meet on the same road'." Akizuki's expression wavered for a moment, fighting for calm. "It is not a well-known poem."

"It is beautiful nonetheless," Tezuka answered. Akizuki closed his eyes, visibly trying to compose himself.

"I was but a child when I quoted that poem to another child, both of us playing at love." Akizuki's eyes met his, and the naked pain he saw there staggered Tezuka. "He'd never been fond of poetry, always calling it useless. He'd preferred a more...practical art. After he...I haven't heard this poem since."

In a flash Tezuka understood why Akizuki had reacted like that before, when Tezuka quoted the poem to him. He cupped Akizuki's pale cheek, meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry for causing you pain."

"You did not know." Akizuki leaned into the touch. "You remind me of him."

"Are we that alike?"

Soft laugh. "Yes, and no." Softened blue eyes found his, and Tezuka brushed his thumb over Akizuki's cheekbone. "You are what he will never become."

With that, Akizuki closed the distance between them, and Tezuka caught him. When Tezuka lowered him to the wooden floor, Akizuki pulled him down, and for one perfect night, their heartbeat and breath mingled as one. The wind murmured quiet whispers in the forest of aged bamboos, where only the moonlight watched from afar.

 **END OF PART IV**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XD It was after the first three chapter my patience ran out and I gave up on the whole detailed footnote idea. So all the notes for following parts will be brief.
> 
> \- The three poems quoted in full, in order of appearance, are: 竹里館 ("Bamboo Adobe"), 江樓書懷 ("From Riverside Pavilion"), and 相思夢 ("A Dream of My Beloved"). See Part II notes [3] & [4], and Part III note [7] for the full texts and translations.
> 
> \- Akizuki's apprentice calls Akizuki as onii-san, in a parallel to what maiko usually address a senior geisha (onee-san).
> 
> \- Above all, _**Whisper**_ arc is about hidden stories never fully told aloud. I do have Suzuran's full background worked out, but it's only hinted at - just like Akizuki's true name. (I chose the wisteria to symbolize Akizuki because the Japanese word for wisteria makes a neat pun. Kudos if you guess this one right!) Basically, Suzuran was born and raised in Flower Town all his life, unlike Akizuki who came as a teenager.
> 
> \- "Flower that understands speech" (解語花) is an epithet given to Concubine Yang by the Tang dynasty emperor, Xuanzong. Commonly known as Yang-guifei, she is considered one of the Four Beauties of China. As you might note, this epithet isn't used with a complimentary or romantic nuance in this story. :)


	5. 外傳. 相思夢 [Side Story: A Dream of My Beloved]

**外傳. 相思夢 (외전: 상사몽)**

The old priest, his teacher, had once asked him: what was the most important thing to him?

He had smiled and refused to answer.

When they met, the boy was nothing but a child, struggling in the massive shadow of his father. His father had been the strongest swordsman of his time, a legend simply known as the Samurai. Every day, eager would-be students flocked his door, all of whom he turned down; for some reason, the Samurai was not interested in taking any students other than his only son.

His father might have been interested only in strength, and meeting worthy opponents to test himself. But his young son was...

It was undeniable that the boy _liked_ the art of swordsmanship. But to him, strength seemed a vague, distant notion compared to the immediate, insurmountable obstacle before him: his father.

The boy did not know what lay beyond that mountain, or if he could even succeed in climbing to its summit. Perhaps that was why he frequently took refuge in the shrine, watching him bustle about the place. Sometimes, the boy practiced in the backyard while he mopped the floor. He liked how he could get the boy to do little things for him, like raking the fallen leaves and sweeping the yard. The boy grumbled, but never seemed to begrudge him.

The boy often watched while he practiced calligraphy, retracing the words of old poems and sacred texts with care. The boy had a gift with languages, but never cared much for the classical literature; the boy called the old poems a bore, and _Genji Monogatari_ , a waste of time. He teased right back, calling the boy an uncultured peasant. They usually ended up in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter.

The boy was mesmerized when he first saw him practicing _kagura_ , the ceremonial dance to the gods. In the shrine, the _kagura_ was the shrine maidens' domain, but he couldn't help being fascinated. So it became their secret, the boy watching him while he went over the movements he spied from the young maidens in training.

Everyone had objected when they found out. Only the shrine maidens could perform the sacred dance, they argued. To pass it onto a boy - unthinkable! His teacher, the old priest, who had caught him secretly practicing the dance, nevertheless insisted that he be taught. The old priest gently but firmly quashed the objections, and smiled to see him improve by leaps and bounds, until even other priests and shrine maidens accepted it. One of the priests joked about it, saying he was obviously born to the wrong gender. Surely he must be a _tennyo_ , a heavenly maiden, fallen to earth for some transgression.

Was the transgression love, he wondered, holding the boy close on those dark, moonless nights, when the boy came to him with that terrible, haunted look in his eyes. The boy hadn't even seen his fifteenth birthday when they tumbled to the futon one night, in the stifling heat of July, hands scrabbling to get clothes out of the way, mouths eager to suck and nibble at whatever skin they could reach.

He hadn't feared the gods for a long time, not since his entire family was murdered before his eyes. And he didn't fear them now, not even after desecrating the holy grounds - repeatedly - with acts of filth.

He should have, however, feared for the boy.

Much to his teacher's dismay, he'd refused take part in public ceremonies, except for the sacred dances, which he always performed flawlessly. In truth, his dance was only for the one person who made him feel holy. The shrine and their endless rituals of purity did not matter. Nothing else would come close to _this_. What lay between them was the only sanctity left in his life. No one in this world could pull them apart. This delicious, secret sin - it couldn't possibly end.

Except they could.

The boy's father was furious when he finally thought to follow his son on one of his long disappearances. _He_ was even angrier, that someone had dared to intrude what was theirs alone. The boy - he hadn't remembered the boy was exactly that: a boy, and still subject to his father's will. Of course, it didn't stop the boy from sneaking out whenever he could despite the redoubled watch on his person. And he waited each day, believing the boy would come.

One night, the boy didn't come, and he didn't worry. Perhaps the boy's father was too watchful. However, the boy didn't come the night after, either. Or the night after. Or the one after.

A week later, the Samurai came and asked for a memorial service to ease the spirit of his only son. His dark eyes, icy with hatred, fastened on him and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He should have prayed, given a fitting last farewell to the boy, but all he could feel was the numbness of a walking dead. Throughout the service, he could not move if he tried, his body leaden, heavier than soaked cotton. The very air of the temple seemed to choke him, and the incense suffocated him, slowly sucking the life out of him. His teacher invited the Samurai for tea afterwards, and he sat by their side like a deaf and mute thing, hardly feeling the icy gaze on him from time to time. Watching the old priest and the Samurai exchange polite conversation, he irrationally wished the Samurai would show anger, scream at him, even strike him, _anything_ but calmly sip his tea like someone who hadn't buried his only son just few days ago. When his hand twitched in his lap, it itched for the solid feel of steel in his hand, to strike, to hurt, to do _something_ to tear apart the wall of blankness wrapped around them. How could this man sit there and do nothing but stare at him with accusing eyes, when his son, the boy - _his_ boy - was dead...?

He wasn't sure how he got out of there. When he was aware of his surroundings again, he was in the middle of a busy street, watching a procession of silk-clad women with painted faces and delicate hands. He watched them for a long time, their laughter, and their music, and thought he recognized those smiles. The strain of the koto and shamisen _spoke_ to him, sang and wailed to him until he could hear nothing else.

He did not tell anyone, not even his teacher, and went down to a teahouse in Shimabara. He never looked back.

In hindsight, his luck was truly boundless where teachers were concerned. It should have been unthinkable to accept someone his age - a boy besides - into a teahouse, not as a servant but as a performer. But the mistress of the White Plum Teahouse, though skeptical of him at first, quickly recognized his talents and his delight in the arts, and took on his education herself. In her days, she too had been a dancer and musician of the highest merit. And she taught him the dances, the koto and the shamisen, taking pride and joy in his progress. He absorbed all of them with the desperation of a drowning man because it was the only way he could forget himself. He far preferred the busy hum of the teahouse to the shrine's lifeless quiet, with no vibration of koto or hum of shamisen to fill the evening air. Here, he could immerse himself in poetry and literature as much as he wished. He discovered Li Bai and Du Fu, Wang Wei and Zhao Gu, and slowly, relearned how to breathe.

His debut was difficult. It was unheard of, granting a debut to a boy, and one so new to the Flower Town. He learned to deal with others' jealousy and resentment early on, and frankly, did not care much about what the rest of the world thought of him. His sole joy was with his arts, and what did it matter that others looked at him with anger or envy? They couldn't touch him. No one could.

The trouble came the day after his debut, when he danced in public for the first time.

He hadn't danced before the patrons until then - only among his peers and teachers. It was his first time performing publicly after the boy's death, and he nearly faltered as he closed the dance, thinking he caught a glimpse of familiar dark golden eyes in the crowd. When he returned to his room, he was shivering, sick to his stomach. By the time he was supposed to leave for his first appointment of the evening, he was nowhere within the teahouse.

That night, he went back to the shrine for the first time in five years. There, in the presence of the boy's spirit, he danced the sacred dance once more. Despite the time passed, each movement came back to him as naturally as breathing, but his body felt heavier and heavier as he continued, and by the end, he could barely stand. Under the fading plum trees of the old shrine, he danced his best, his last, and after he finished, never returned again.

After that day, no amount of threats, pleading, or cajoling could induce him to dance again, and eventually the mistress gave in. Even without his dance, he quickly became popular with his natural grace and beauty, witty intellect, and skills with koto and shamisen.

It was a good a way as any to lose himself, to drown in the sea of perfume and silk and music and decadence. Or what was left of himself, the embers and ashes left behind by the young priest-in-training, the little _kagura_ dancer, as bitter and gray as the winter nights. If the old priest, his teacher, were to ask again what was the thing most important to him, he now had his answer.

To the geisha named Akizuki, with his painted face and delicate hands and feet, fluttering under the rustle of painted silk, it wasn't the hum of the song that sprang to life under his fingertips, or the fragrance of liquor on an autumn night. Not the elegant poetry he penned with masterful strokes of his brush, or the admiring glances and the whispers of sweet promises given during the night, forgotten before dawn.

It was pain.

  
**FIN**   


* * *

Really long ~~ranty~~ notes ahead! Feel free to skip.

 **On background for _Whisper_ :** "Sang Sa Mong" ("A Dream of My Beloved"), as I mentioned in Part III note [7], is a poem by a famous courtesan in 16th century Korea (then known as Choseon). Hwang Jin-Yi (黃眞伊), famous as an icon of beauty even in present Korea, has left numerous legends, but little is actually known about her. One consistent question I got from readers was whether I'd based **_Whisper_** on either the K-drama _Hwang Jini_ (2006) or Arthur Golden's _Memoirs of a Geisha_. Short answer to both questions is NO. I didn't read the book until 2010, and this story was written in March 2007; I LIKED the book when I finally got around to it, I just hadn't had a chance to read it before. And though I'd liked drama _Hwang Jini_ and it WAS what got me in the mood to write a (pseudo-)historical Asiatic romance, the story is not related to the drama. What I did take from the drama were some of the poetic references and the title for Part VI. (That and, I used the drama soundtrack as my fic-writing music.) Otherwise, the drama actually contains numerous inaccuracies that pissed me off quite a bit at the time I watched it. And it really must be understood Korean "historical" dramas are NOT concerned with historical accuracy - even really great ones like _Queen Seon Duk (2009)_.

Historical Hwang Jin-Yi had been one of my favorite heroines long before the drama ever came to existence. I'd learned about her - like any other children who grew up in Korea - mainly through oral traditions. It is commonly believed that Hwang Jin-Yi (whose name should more correctly be rendered Hwang Jin; "Yi"(伊) is a character denoting a child, commonly attached to a girl's name) was daughter of a nobleman, though concubine-born. At the time of her birth, social strata in Korea were extremely rigid. So when a commoner boy in the same neighborhood fell in love with her, he dared not even breathe a word of his love, and died of a broken heart. During the burial, the procession stopped right before Jin's house, and no matter what the mourners did, they could not move forward. Jin, after hearing what happened, brought out her own clothing (either skirt or underskirt depending on tradition) and gave it to cover the boy's remains, and at once the procession could move again. Afterward, she decided to become a courtesan, a "flower by the roadside" that anyone could enjoy, taking Myeong Wol ("Bright Moon") as her stage name.

After her debut, she quickly became famous for her beauty, her literary accomplishments, and calligraphy, drawing nobles from far and wide flocking to her door. She went on to exchange letters with the most prominent intellectuals of her time period, as well as seducing several famous figures (including a monk who'd once been respected as a "living Buddah"). Her poetry, both in Korean and in Chinese, are still taught regularly in Korean schools today. Her charisma, spirit, artistry, and sensational scandals captured popular imagination during her time and ever after. Memorable to the end, Hwang Jin-Yi, on her deathbed, asked her body to be either exposed (which was a taboo for the most parts) or more likely, buried at the roadside (rather than deep in the mountain, as was proper). Different reasons are given for her request: a warning to other women, as a penance for frustrating so many men (bwuh?), or to avoid being alone even in death. An amusing anecdote survives, of a passing government official who was dismissed from his post after he composed a poem lamenting Hwang Jin-Yi's death.

The drama portrays her as a daughter of nobleman and a courtesan, which may or may not be true. But that she grew up in a Buddhist temple, or the star-crossed romance with a noble youth, and the affair with Minister of Arts later on, are purely drama inventions. Also, in no known tradition was Hwang Jin-Yi ever credited as a dancer.

I chose to make Akizuki a dancer because I had the entire story planned from the start, and I needed him to be a dancer for Part VI to work. In fact, Part V was originally titled "Bi Cheon Mu" (飛天舞 :: "Dance Rising to Heaven") after the Korean manhwa of that title by Kim Hye-Rin because the climax scene in Part VI was partly based on one of the manhwa's most dramatic scenes. The Shinto temple bit was based on a doujinshi I once saw (which featured a miko!Fuji and - and this made me blink - Sakaki/Fuji as pairing), and had nothing to do with the drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Although I have his entire backstory (for the fic) worked out, I deliberately left Akizuki's past obscure so as to not detract from the story. But there are several things I tried to emphasize. One, he lost his entire family in what was DEFINITELY not an accident, and two, when he first came to the temple, he already knew how to read (and had presumably read _Genji Monogatari_ before). The first one contributes to majority of his issues in-fic, and the second implies he was from a good family - I leave it to the readers' imagination how good.
> 
> \- Sex is supposed to be polluting act. Shinto beliefs stress purity (hence the ritual bathing, and the fountain for the visitors to wash their hands), so Akizuki's actions would be considered sacrilegious.
> 
> \- Historically (and in some ways, even in the present), the world's oldest profession is a funny one. From fairly early on, courtesans existed on a gradation, from the lowest end of simple sex-trade to the highest end of selling companionship and fantasy romance. Majority of courtesans were poor or lower class women who entered the profession out of necessity, or not by choice at all (slaves). But on the higher end of the spectrum, courtesans were often well-educated (moreso than most of their well-born female contemporaries) and artistically accomplished, both of which were necessary to entertain upper-class clientele. (In fact, courtesans were often one of those few women who actually had time to cultivate such accomplishments, given that averages wives were be too busy with household duties to learn them.) For the ones at the highest end, being courtesan was probably one of the few professions that afforded them a measure of autonomy and financial independence, uncommon for women in pre-modern societies. On the other hand, that probably applied only to the handful at the top. Even Iwasaki Mineko (whose autobiography, _Geisha: A Life_ , is one of my major sources) tends to sugarcoat things a bit, but then again, she was a well-born girl who entered Gion as the chosen heiress to the Iwasaki house (though she, too, was compelled by her family's financial situation). My other major source, Leslie Downer's _Women of the Pleasure Quarters_ , gives a much more even-handed account (including discussions on _mizuage_ and male geisha), and it's clear that for most people, being in the entertainment business was no picnic.
> 
> \- The concept of pain - _han_ \- being the central part of art is a very old Korean belief. In old Korean tradition, art was thought to be inspired by a deep-seated pain and suffering. Potters who created beautiful celadon and ceramics routinely destroyed (inferior) works they worked so painstakingly to finish, and often likened the emotional pain of it to a physical one, as if their own bodies were breaking. Yet the process of destroying one's own work - that were deemed inferior or unworthy - was considered a vital part in practicing the art. Drama _Hwang Jini_ makes it sound like it invented the concept, which it hasn't; it's merely capitalizing on an old concept.


	6. 五. 淸平樂 [Clear and Peaceful Music]

**五. 淸平樂 (청평악)**

 _The spring returns after we've parted  
And sorrow tears me apart inside.  
On the steps plum blossoms fall like snowflakes;  
I brush them away, but they shroud me whole.  
\- Li Wu_

Akizuki dreamed again.

A half-moon shone in the sky like a comb made of palest jade. He was at the old shrine again, but the familiar white and red garb was nowhere to be seen.

The boy, too, was missing.

Slowly, he began to dance. Each movement, each turn - it was different. Nothing like the solemnity of _kagura_ , but the flutter of blossoms in a summer breeze; and a butterfly flirting with them, unable to choose which one to woo. Each step was unknown, new, yet his body knew exactly how to move.

When he finished, he raised his eyes to find the boy watching him. The boy smiled.

"I'm sorry," Akizuki said softly. "I've held you here for so long, haven't I?"

The boy said nothing, but the rueful quirk of his lips was answer enough. Those eyes that had always seemed so young were now tender, asking a silent question. Akizuki smiled back, relieved and sad.

"Yes. I'll be fine." It was harder to say the next. "You can go, now."

The boy's smile widened, and he stepped back a few paces, the tenderness still in his gaze. Then he was gone in a swirl of scarlet petals. The breathtaking fragrance suffocated Akizuki for a moment, the memory of their first meeting under the plum blossoms unbearably fresh. Akizuki closed his eyes, and as he exhaled, let go of the pain and sorrow that had been his sole companions for years. When he breathed again, the scent of red plum blossoms was gone.

When he woke up, there were tears in his eyes, but he smiled.

* * *

"A month?"

Akizuki nodded. "It might take longer."

"I'll be on duty myself." Tezuka added, "But I will probably return before you do." Akizuki nodded his understanding, though there was concern in his eyes. Tezuka touched his hand, and the reassuring gesture made him smile. "What will you be doing for a month?"

The smile turned playful. "That's a secret. I'll show you next time."

"I'll look forward to it, then."

Akizuki's fingers traced Tezuka's palm, and Tezuka made a deep sound in his throat. Warm hand, larger than his own, wrapped around his hand, and Akizuki let Tezuka pull him closer. Slowly he leaned forward and pressed his cheek on Tezuka's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat.

Through the tiny gap between the shoji doors, curious eyes watched them, giggles barely stifled behind small hands. One of the girls sighed.

"Must be love."

"Of course it is," a second girl hissed at the first. "Why else would Tezuka-han come here?"

"I meant Akizuki-onii-san. Lately he's hardly seen any of his other customers," the first girl whispered back, just as emphatic.

"Shh!" The third girl cautioned.

"What are you doing there?" A voice barked, and the girls jumped. Suzuran, resplendent in his favorite purple kimono, walked up to them, a displeased frown on his pretty face. "Skipping lessons and spying on others?"

"Shhhh!" All three said furiously, nervously glancing at the doors. "Akizuki-onii-san's inside," whispered the first girl. The second girl elbowed her.

"Our shamisen teacher, Matsuda-sensei, is late today," the second girl murmured, eyes downcast. Suzuran's temper was no secret where Akizuki was concerned. And Suzuran often took it out on others, snapping at the apprentices or slapping the servants. The other two girls also stood with their eyes respectfully lowered. Suzuran's expression did not ease, but he nodded curtly.

"Return to the practice room at once. If I catch you doing this again, I will tell okaa-san. Understand?"

"Yes, Suzuran-onee-san," the girls chorused, and with a quick bow, scurried off like mice fleeing a cat. Suzuran hardly noticed them, his attention fixed on the scene inside. Tezuka's head was on Akizuki's lap, who stroked his hair. Suzuran's gaze burned through the shoji screen, eyes ablaze at the sweet, content smile on Akizuki's face. And Tezuka, the famous Kyoto Tiger, lay peacefully asleep.

Defenseless. Trusting.

 _Loving_.

Suzuran could hear his teeth grind together. Could feel sharp nails digging into his palms, breaking skin, drawing blood. Akizuki. Always Akizuki. Beautiful, talented Akizuki, who took fame and admiration as his birthright, never once caring how his great shadow choked countless other artists in the flower and willow world, the ones who labored to get even a fraction of the recognition, the _chance_ Akizuki had...!

Akizuki, who already had everything - talent, fame, honor, respect - now had love as well.

Nails slid down slowly, scraping against the wood. Suzuran tasted blood and belatedly realized he'd bitten his lip. Pressing his lips together, Suzuran spun on his heel and stalked down the corridor.

* * *

"I've already told you I will be leaving for a while."

The mistress's expression hardened, but she did not frown. "I know that. But he's been a generous patron of our house for years before he moved to Edo. He is rich and has powerful connections, including the daimyo of Edo. We cannot refuse him."

Akizuki's gaze did not soften. "For a whole week. It's not reasonable."

"It's not as if you've been seeing a whole lot of customers," the mistress said, voice still calm, but with the snap of a winter's frost. "I've allowed you a great deal of freedom since you served the Shogun. But you have a contract with this house. Don't forget that." The severe set of her shoulders told him he would not win this argument. He inclined his head minutely in acquiescence.

"You may take off a full month after this. Conduct yourself as one befitting our reputation." The mistress paused, mouth softening just a little. "I trust you can handle yourself should there be requests that you find difficult. _Without_ angering your guest."

Akizuki bowed, knowing the matter was closed, and withdrew.

It was just one week. He could handle that.

* * *

Much to his pain, he found his guest both boring and tiresome. The man was from a samurai family that became merchants, but did not forgo their former status as was proper. But because of his wealth and connections, most people humored him. Uncultured and without a modicum of understanding for arts, the client was nevertheless fascinated with Akizuki from the very start.

For the first couple days, it was fine to pretend he didn't notice the veiled suggestions and evade advances. Third day was more difficult. Even with the other maiko dancing in the same room, the customer, Kikuchi, whom Akizuki secretly nicknamed "the Pig," would not cease trying to fondle him.

The fourth day was worse. The younger girls were visibly unsettled, especially those who looked up to Akizuki, and he had to send the girls away before one of them made a mistake.

"Come now, I grow tired of your coyness." Kikuchi said, irritated when Akizuki brushed away his hand yet again. "I told you, I'll give you anything you want. I'll pay ten times the usual amount. Now come here."

Akizuki hid his frustrated growl in a smile. "So inconsistent is the heart, the futile promises will disappear like morning dew when the sun rises."

"Do you doubt a samurai's word?" Kikuchi asked him with a frown, but the sake-induced good humor was returning to his face.

"Are samurai not men?" Akizuki returned, smile on his lips. "Indeed if they weren't, then they would have a stone for their heart, and incapable of love."

As soon as the word left his mouth he regretted it, but Kikuchi laughed boisterously, his mood restored. "You are quite right. We _are_ men and we _do_ have a heart. How long do you intend to wound mine?"

Kikuchi's worst part, Akizuki decided, was that he fancied himself quite the cavalier. "Then you must forgive me, for it was not by intent. But I don't know when or how I caused you this injury, and cannot fathom how I might make amends."

"Grant me but your love, and the pain of a love spurned will melt away." A hand slipped around his waist to toy with the obi knot, and Akizuki did his best not to tense or pull away.

"A love rashly given will soon be despised," Akizuki murmured demurely, slipping out of the Kikuchi's arm to fetch the small table with sake and cups. "One who gives himself quickly to love, gives himself to heartbreak."

"Never; by the full moon -"

"-That waxes and wanes in the span of but a month? That such would be your oath."

"How can I prove my devotion, then?" The Pig was thoroughly enjoying himself, that much was plain. "Only name it, and I will do it."

"Will you, truly?" Akizuki's melancholy smile would have melted the ever-white peak of Mt. Fuji. Kikuchi was entranced. "May I trust your pledge?"

"Upon my honor! And my life."

Akizuki's smile was a touch more genuine this time, voice as sweet as spring rain.

"Then, Kikuchi-han..."

* * *

" _What_?"

The girl jumped, swallowing a scream. Suzuran's eyes smoldered in the lamplight.

"That...that _imbecile_! After all I've done to make sure he chooses Akizuki, he _still_ hasn't managed to bed him even _once_?"

"What if he doesn't manage for the whole week?" It was another senior geisha, Akamatsu, a frown creasing her smooth, painted brow. "The mistress won't keep Akizuki past the promised time." The young maiko fidgeted, worrying the hem of her sleeve.

"Yukiko."

"Y-yes?" the girl squeaked.

"Go back and find out exactly what they're doing. _Every_ detail. Understand?"

"Yes, Suzuran-onee-san."

The two senior geisha watched Yukiko leave. Akamatsu turned amused eyes to Suzuran. "'Onee-san'?"

"I respect the traditions of geisha," was Suzuran's dignified reply. Akamatsu let it go without a comment. "It's already been four days. That _bitch_."

"What if..." Akamatsu smoothed her skirt, shifting on her cushion. "What if Akizuki just leaves? If Tezuka-han is serious about him..."

"Tezuka-han is never _not_ serious. But okaa-san won't let him go. Akizuki still has almost two years remaining in his contract. She's no fool to let go of her cash cow that easily."

"That's true." Akamatsu brightened a little. "Do you think this will work, though? Akizuki served the Shogun before, but Tezuka-han didn't seem to mind." Delicate fingers fiddled with a flowering karabana embroidered on the yellow sleeve. "After all, he understands what being a courtesan entails."

"That's different. No one can refuse the Shogun. But an ordinary customer..." Suzuran's mouth curled in a cruel smile. He twisted a stray lock of hair between his fingers, then tucked it behind his ear. "He's perfect for this. Why else would I have bothered writing to that repulsive pig all the way up in Edo?"

"I hope so," Akamatsu capitulated, sounding dubious. Suzuran said nothing further. He would intervene if necessary. The only thing he regretted was not being able to watch Akizuki trying to cope with the rich, repugnant fool. Suzuran's lips pulled into a vicious smile.

He couldn't wait to see the completion of his master plan.

* * *

Akizuki was less than surprised when Kikuchi stormed to his room, face red, huffing like an angry boar. Earlier, he'd seen a figure in purple kimono accost the Pig in the garden, where he'd sent him on a fool's errand.

"Is it true you will not have me because you love another?" Kikuchi demanded, seizing Akizuki by the wrist.

"A courtesan's heart is unfathomable," Akizuki said, touching Kikuchi's hand, whose grip slackened at once. "And even those closest to him cannot guess all its secrets. My heart is not so easily given, Kikuchi-han. Not to anyone."

Ironically, it was true to the letter, and Kikuchi released him. "Then why do you insist on torturing me like this? When you know I love you?"

"I do not give my heart easily because I don't fancy getting it broken. If you would break your solemn word in mere three days, then your love is not the pure and noble love that you professed to me, but the love for one night's pleasures only."

The look Akizuki gave him would have moved a stone to tears. Kikuchi was visibly affected, not in small part because of the implied flattery.

"No, I love you truly, and I will prove it to you even if I die trying. Forgive me for doubting you." Akizuki let him take his hand, smiling so brilliantly that the Pig stopped breathing for a whole minute. A strange look passed Kikuchi's face then, sincere and serious, and so alien to his features, as he slid a jade ring on Akizuki's finger.

"Stone of heaven that forever remains pure. My heart is like this spotless jade. Wear this, and remember my pledge to you." The ring was delicate and thin, and so pale it was white, the color even and without fault. An import from China, he guessed, and turned his eyes back to Kikuchi, who was lost in his daydream of courtship and gallantry. "Look upon this ring as you would me, until I return."

"You are leaving?" He really hoped he didn't sound as glad as he felt.

"I have to make arrangements for my business before I can come back. They need me." He puffed up with self-importance and Akizuki schooled his expression to a suitable look of admiration and understanding. "Until we meet again."

Akizuki nodded, averting his eyes in a gesture of shyness, and Kikuchi, after another moment of indecision, finally let go of Akizuki's hand, and left. It was probably too early to rejoice yet, and with effort he suppressed his laughter. Feeling as if he'd been wrestling with bears all week, he retired to his room. It was still morning, but a short nap would be most welcome. Especially, Akizuki thought to himself with cool amusement, in preparation for the afternoon, when he went to "talk" to Suzuran.

Akizuki closed his eyes with a sigh, and was asleep in a few minutes.

* * *

'Damned idiot! Ignorant, spineless fool!' Suzuran bit his lip to keep from cursing aloud. Not only had the stupid pig failed to bed Akizuki, he had rushed back to Edo in preparation for another extended stay at Kyoto. And all of this without even seeing Suzuran first.

'If people would just do as I say, nothing would go wrong! Useless, vulgar...!' Suzuran stopped himself. The passage for the ship to Edo was an expense he could spare, and besides, they were nearing the Edo harbor.

Much to his pleasure, Kikuchi's old servant recognized him, and Suzuran was immediately taken to the sitting room. Soon, Kikuchi himself swept in, looking self-assured and quite in his element in his native surroundings.

"Oh, Suzuran! What brings you to Edo?"

Suzuran bowed, and sat when his host gestured.

"Edo is a bit out of the way for you, isn't it?" Kikuchi asked, pouring tea for himself and Suzuran.

"What road would be too far when you need me?" Suzuran replied, unsmiling. To his annoyance, his demeanor and expression entirely escaped the imperceptive idiot's notice.

"Too kind of you! Far too kind. After all, it was you who told me about Akizuki."

"That's precisely why I came. I felt it my responsibility to have brought you such unhappiness."

Kikuchi frowned, finally catching onto Suzuran's somber voice. "Unhappiness?"

"That Akizuki...he's always put himself above his station, but this..." A theatrical sigh, marked with sorrow. "Shaming you like this, and playing you for a fool. It's unthinkable."

"What are you talking about?" Kikuchi asked, bewildered

Suzuran's face showed nothing but sympathy. "Oh, Kikuchi-han, don't tell me you didn't know...?" He dropped his gaze, voice lowered. "Akizuki has been Tezuka-han's lover for a long time. There are many heartbroken lovers he tricked like this: feigning interest, all the while belonging to another. Everyone in Kyoto knows it." He heaved a deep sigh. "That was why I warned you to be careful."

"You did do that."

The strange tone made Suzuran look at him sharply. The dawning fury told him he had the fool, but the other, strange expression lingering on Kikuchi's face... Suzuran's hands clenched under the cover of long sleeves. No matter. If the pig had truly taken to Akizuki, it would serve his purpose all the better.

"Tezuka, did you say? The Kyoto Tiger?"

"The one and the same," Suzuran confirmed.

"Tezuka. Tezuka." Kikuchi murmured, in a strangely distant, contemplative tone.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Tezuka purposely took his time with his duty. He hadn't wished to return too early, and wait aimlessly for Akizuki to finish whatever he was doing. Still, it was good two weeks after his return that Akizuki sent for him.

In the old bamboo grove, he found Akizuki alone in their pavilion. There was no koto or shamisen in sight, and Akizuki was dressed in a lavender _hikizuri kimono_ , carrying nothing but a fan. Before he could even greet him, Akizuki bowed, then spun lightly, the fan snapping open.

It took Tezuka a moment to move past the shock of realizing _Akizuki was dancing for him_. The long sleeves swung like heavy curtains of wisteria, purple and fragrant, swaying enticingly, and Akizuki's fan was a yellow butterfly, flittering between the racemes. The graceful movements wove a poem, and Tezuka stood mesmerized, hardly daring to breathe, until Akizuki stopped with a final sway of lavender sleeves, head bowed.

A long moment passed with only the calls of the insects between them. Finally, Tezuka stirred, taking a deep breath.

"Wisteria and butterfly?"

Akizuki raised his head, joy shining in his eyes. "I knew you would see it." Tezuka went to him, eyes never leaving Akizuki's. "The Dance of Wisteria and Butterfly. I wanted you to be the first one to see it."

Tezuka swallowed, searching for words, and finding none. "I...it was..."

A hand reached for him, and Tezuka caught it and kissed it. "The look in your eyes gave me all the compliment I need," Akizuki said, and Tezuka smiled at him, open and warm. "You helped me find my dance again."

"Then I am honored." Tezuka's eyes were intense, yet strangely tender. "You're most beautiful, most _yourself_ when you dance. Your heart is in it."

To his surprise, Akizuki blushed. "I know." His eyes slid away, uncharacteristically self-conscious, and Tezuka cupped his cheek to keep him from turning away. "I would give it to you, if you asked," Akizuki whispered at last, and Tezuka pulled him closer, waiting until the uncertain eyes focused on him again.

"And I would give you mine in return, but on one condition."

"What is that?"

"For good." Tezuka held his eyes, unequivocal and earnest. "If you give me your heart, and I give you mine, it will be for good. No looking back."

"For good..." Akizuki's eyes were terrible with hope. "For...our lifetime?"

"And beyond," Tezuka answered steadily. "For as long as we both exist in the wheel of this world."

Akizuki kissed him, impulsive, voice just a little tremulous. "I accept." Tezuka's arms tightened around him, and he was glad for the support, his knees suddenly feeling weak. Their lips met in another kiss, and when they parted, Akizuki was flushed and smiling.

"You asked for my name, when we first met," Akizuki said. "I no longer hesitate to give it to you. I -" Tezuka raised a hand to silence him. Akizuki stopped, and froze when he heard the distinct rustle in the bamboo grove. Tezuka's left hand was resting not-so-casually on the hilt of his katana, alert and watchful. Akizuki soundlessly reached inside his obi for a dagger, and Tezuka quirked one fine brow at him, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth, respect and affection in his gaze.

They both let out the breath they'd been holding when Atobe emerged from the woods, closely followed by two of his men. He did not look pleased.

"The lord requires your presence," Atobe said without preamble, and Tezuka frowned. Atobe cut him off before he could speak. "Long story short, you are under arrest, Tezuka. I'm here to escort you back."

Behind him, Akizuki inhaled carefully, but was otherwise silent.

"Am I to know why?" Tezuka asked calmly.

"The lord wishes to tell you himself," Atobe said curtly. "Though those who couldn't keep their mouths shut seemed to think you have been disloyal, in addition to behaving contrary to bushido." His eyes never even flickered to Akizuki.

Tezuka's right hand, linked to Akizuki's left, tightened just a notch. "Will the lord give me a chance to speak?"

"He wouldn't have sent _me_ if he wasn't planning to."

Tezuka nodded. Another squeeze, and he let go, stepping forward, feeling light fingertips linger on his wrist. "Let's go, then."

Left behind, Akizuki had to lean on the pillars as he stepped out of the pavilion. He tucked away his dagger, a hand clenched over his racing heart. He knew Tezuka. There was no chance such accusations could be true. Once the Lord of Aizu, who favored Tezuka, heard his case, everything would be fine.

Akizuki hurried back, unsuccessfully trying to dispel the dark clouds lingering in his heart.

 **END OF PART V**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's be honest. Who actually reads lengthy author's notes at the end of a fic?
> 
> ...Besides you and me? XD
> 
> At the risk of repeating myself, **Whisper** was never intended to be historically or culturally accurate. I didn't go through extra length researching for facts while I was writing. In fact, all the research I did was _after_ I wrote the whole thing, and only because I got the brilliant idea of annotating this monstrosity. That means: if the notes confuse/annoy you, IGNORE THEM. They aren't necessary to understand the story. The poems did get a lot of my attention, but I've always been a geek about translating stuff. Plus, the poems contributed to the "authentically" Asiatic feel I was going for, so that worked out.
> 
> One more chapter left to go. No more poetry, rest assured, but there _will_ be Drama, and a Conclusion. Please hold the rotten tomatoes until the end. Thank you.
> 
>  **More Notes:**
> 
> \- I forgot to add in the last part. _Kagura_ (神楽, かぐら, "god-entertainment") is traditional dance in Shinto tradition, possibly originating from the legend of Amaterasu (who was enticed out of her hiding place by the dance and revelry of other gods). The one Akizuki learned is the _miko kagura_ , which, as the name implies, is danced only by shrine maidens ( _miko_ ).
> 
> \- **淸平樂 (Clear and Peaceful Music) by 李煜 (Li Wu; see Part I, note [9])**
> 
> 別來春半，  
> 觸目愁腸斷。  
> 砌下落梅如雪亂，  
> 拂了一身還滿。
> 
> 雁來音信無凭。  
> 路遙歸夢難成。  
> 離恨恰似春草，  
> 更行更遠還生。
> 
>  _The spring returns after we've parted  
>  And sorrow tears me apart inside.  
> On the steps plum blossoms fall like snowflakes;  
> I brush them away, but they shroud me whole._
> 
>  _Wild geese return, but cannot be trusted  
>  The road is far, and dream of return is difficult._   
> _Thoughts of home are like the spring grass  
>  No matter how far I go, they grow again._
> 
> My own translation from the Korean translation provided in Book 4 of Kim Hye-Rin's _Bi Cheon Mu_ (original source unknown). Original text in Chinese was taken from a Japanese website (you won't believe how hard it was to find this text at all, sheesh). I first saw this poem in _Bi Cheon Mu_ , and was blown away. It has been one of my favorites ever since. Li Wu composed this poem while in exile, after he was forced to abdicate from the throne.
> 
> \- Jade was prized as symbol of fortune, and for supposed healing effects. Two minerals - nephrite and jadeite - are often both called jade, but Chinese variety of nephrite is found as particularly beautiful, creamy-white stone that was highly prized throughout Chinese (and Korean) history. The ring featured in the fic is made of white jade. Thin jade rings can break, though, even from a bit of rough handling. That's how I broke the pair my cousin gave me when I was young. ;)


	7. 六. 落花流水 [Fallen Petals, Flowing Water]

**六. 落花流水 (낙화유수)**

"Matsudaira-sama, please reconsider!"

"We must not disregard the mountains of evidence, even if -"

"My lord!"

The lord sat straight and tall, the stern visage betraying nothing of his thoughts. His vassals were restless as angry bees. The lord's occasional penchant for favoritism was well known, and often criticized. Of all his subordinates, Tezuka had received his trust and favor - and along with them others' jealousy and suspicion - the longest. Tezuka's uncompromising adherence to bushido was admired on one hand, and looked with distaste on the other. Even Yamamoto Tsunetomo, the renowned author of _Hagakure_ , had warned fish couldn't live in water that was too clear. And Tezuka was the clearest of them.

The lord knew he might not be able to shield Tezuka this time. The investigation was a farce, and the scandal, a flimsy excuse, but if he let it continue, _someone_ might invent an excuse that _worked_. So he had sent Tezuka to the battlefront, under the disgrace he never earned, so that he might once again prove his loyalty and worth. As the liege lord, if he couldn't preserve Tezuka's honor any other way, he could do that much.

The lord resumed reading the reports, dismissing the vassals from his thoughts, letting their voices fade to a distant hum.

* * *

The day after Tezuka left, Atobe returned home to find Akizuki waiting for him. He did not acknowledge him, calling for servants to bring sake.

"I heard he's been sent to the front," Akizuki said without preamble. Atobe's cool eyes swept over him.

"And whose fault is that?"

Akizuki was unfazed. "Is one lowly courtesan enough to overturn Aizu's court? Or is the Lord of Aizu so easily moved by trivial gossip?"

Atobe looked away first, conceding the point. He took a long sip of his sake, then began. "I always expected something like this would eventually happen. So I did some digging, and found something...intriguing."

At another time, Akizuki would have been amused; Atobe was even more prone to dramatics than Suzuran.

"Interestingly, the first wave of indictments against Tezuka came from the Edo region, not Aizu. Perhaps not terribly shocking, since that's where he was stationed during his last campaign. But a couple of the higher-ups moved, although they'd never expressed dissatisfaction with Tezuka before. So you trace all of that, and it leads to a single instigator."

Akizuki was composed and attentive without a trace of fear or uncertainty, and Atobe reluctantly revised his evaluation on Akizuki's mettle. Perhaps Tezuka hadn't chosen so blindly, after all.

"Now, the plot thickens when we examine the stage for the next wave: Kyoto. Quite a bit of stir here - understandable, since our lord _has_ stayed for a while this time around - but the important thing is the date."

"Date?"

"Yes," Atobe drawled, and his expression bore an uncanny resemblance to a cat about to pounce on its prey. "The day accusations from Kyoto region flooded the lord's office roughly coincides with the return of an old Kyoto resident, the same one who had been at the heart of the Edo indictments. A lowly samurai-turned-merchant, but rich, with a fair number of connections and contacts. Was involved in a huge corruption scandal some seven, eight years ago, and was forced to relocate to Edo in the aftermath.

"One by the name of Kikuchi."

The porcelain cup dropped from Akizuki's slack hand, sprinkling sake in his lap.

"So that's what you meant by whose fault," Akizuki said, his tone subdued. Atobe narrowed his eyes.

"Then I was right. He's one of your rejects." Akizuki pinned him with a penetrating blue gaze, but Atobe remained unruffled. "I noticed a number of Kyoto informants were the same ones who had been laughingstocks at different times, trying to court you and summarily rejected. I found it hard to believe even a fool like Kikuchi planned all of this out of simple jealousy, but he appears to have no other motives, no deeper grudge. And I _looked_."

Akizuki did not reply, deep in thoughts. "What will happen to Tezuka-han?"

"Nothing much. The volume of so-called 'evidence' was enough to paralyze the lord's office for a day or two, and that's why he decided to send Tezuka away. It will take some time to sort through all of them, but none of them has any solid basis. It should be fine by the time he comes back."

"And if he doesn't?"

Atobe barked a short laugh. "Surely you jest. This is Tezuka. He's never lost, not even once." Tezuka's prowess in combat was legendary, and had garnered him the famous nickname. Akizuki's strained expression did not ease, and in a flash Atobe realized what he was thinking. "You think that fool Kikuchi will try something."

"He has enough contacts and resources," Akizuki pointed out, and Atobe nodded.

"I've already sent a team of my personal guards with him. But I can send more." At the look Akizuki directed to him, Atobe held up a hand. "Not my idea, I assure you. They are there as his watchers, by the lord's orders."

Akizuki's shoulders relaxed fractionally. "Thank you, Atobe-han," he said, and Atobe stared at him, taken aback by the formality of his tone: not the demure coyness of a courtesan, but the sincere gratitude of an equal.

"You should stay low for a while," Atobe said after a pause. Akizuki inclined his head.

"I will be staying at the old Tenjin shrine in the northern outskirts of the city."

Atobe gave a curt nod. "I'll send word there."

* * *

Two weeks later, Atobe dropped by the old Tenjin shrine, his face grim. Akizuki was wearing a simple white yukata, and seemed even more slender in the colorless garment.

"I've received word from my subordinates. Our side was victorious, but suffered heavy casualties."

Akizuki waited patiently, eyes steady, and Atobe continued.

"Tezuka's flank was ambushed and nearly decimated. The survivors were few, and came back to the main camp scattered."

Akizuki's eyes were dark, stark on the pale skin. Atobe forced out the next words quickly, watching all the colors drain from Akizuki's face.

"Tezuka didn't return."

* * *

"Who's there?" Suzuran asked loudly. The sound continued, and he grabbed the first thing he could - a shamisen propped against the wall - and took a halting step forward. The lamp was out, but evening light filtered through the shoji screens. Suzuran's eyes narrowed; he didn't remember leaving them half-open. Just when he reached the desk, he heard a sharp hiss and cried out, suddenly face to face with a pair of glowing blue eyes. A screech this time, and the eyes were gone in a crash of books. Evening sunlight showed him a blur of white fur and dark tail crossing the garden. A raccoon...?

"A cat," Suzuran said to himself, relief nearly making his knees buckle.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" A voice purred behind him, and Suzuran jumped.

"Who's there?" Now that his eyes were more accustomed to the dark, he could make out a patch of white in the shade. The figure dressed in white stepped forward, and Suzuran gasped. "You...!"

"Why so surprised, Suzuran?" If he thought Akizuki's wrath was frightening before, the smile Akizuki wore now stopped his heart cold. Akizuki took another step, then another, and Suzuran automatically retreated, until he was backed up against the wall. "Cat got your tongue?" Akizuki whispered silkily. "And here I took the trouble of coming here to congratulate you."

"What do you mean?" He hated how his voice wavered. But the chill emanating from Akizuki wasn't rage.

It was the absolute stillness of death.

"Everything you planned, Suzuran..." Akizuki continued, unhurried. "They all came true. Tezuka-han is dead, just like you wanted."

"No!" The horrified denial was out of his mouth before he even registered the words. "I didn't - I never -" Suzuran stopped to catch his breath. "Tezuka-han is...what do you mean?"

"Surely you didn't think dear old Kikuchi-han would be satisfied with simply disgracing him? Tezuka-han was sent to the battlefield - and never returned."

Suzuran's thoughts spun. Tezuka-han, dead? But Kikuchi...Kikuchi was a lethal mixture of obsession, jealousy, and injured pride. Would that have been enough for a man like him, whose corruption ran bone-deep, to contemplate murder?

Suzuran shuddered, realizing the enormity of the situation, and his own role in it. Akizuki's eyes never left him, missing nothing. The fury behind his gaze abated just a little. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge. Petty and malicious Suzuran might be, but it took a greater degree of unscrupulous viciousness than he possessed to plan a cold-blooded murder.

That wasn't to say he would spare Suzuran, especially if he planned to continue with his plan. In fact, Akizuki's mind chimed, Suzuran might even prove useful. "You wanted to take everything from me." Akizuki continued, soft but relentless. "And you didn't care who got hurt in the process. And now Tezuka-han is dead. You must be proud."

Suzuran kept his head bowed. "I didn't wish for anyone's death," Suzuran finally answered. "Not even yours."

"Alright," Akizuki said slowly. "I believe you." Suzuran's eyes snapped to him. Akizuki held his gaze for a long moment. "Help me."

Suzuran stared at him, surprised. "What?"

"Kikuchi. He has his birthday banquet three days from now." Suzuran nodded, still confused. "You are to dance for him." Another nod. "I want to go in your stead."

Now that Akizuki was no longer radiating death, Suzuran was instantly suspicious. "Why?"

"There's something I need to give back to him."

Suzuran frowned, then his mouth went slack. "You - you're planning to -" A hand covered his mouth, and the icy look was back in Akizuki's eyes.

"He killed Tezuka-han." Akizuki's voice was terrifyingly calm. "Whatever else happens is between us."

"And if I refuse?" Suzuran swallowed at the slow smile that spread on Akizuki's face.

"Then I'll kill you now and go in your place."

Suzuran shivered, sensing the deadly earnestness behind those words.

"This is not the first murder he has committed." Akizuki's eyes burned into his. "You were already instrument to one. It's the least you can do to make amends." A sly, calculating look entered Akizuki's eyes. "Besides, one way or another, I will be out of your life forever. Just like you always wanted. You have nothing to lose."

Suzuran met Akizuki's eyes, and saw the overwhelming determination smoldering with equally intense love, and nodded.

"Alright. I'll help."

* * *

Tezuka knew he was being followed.

His tails had been tracking him since he left Kyoto. They came closer each battle, like a tightening noose, waiting and maneuvering carefully until he was isolated. And now, the rest of the troops were dead or separated from him, and he was alone, deep in the enemy territory, with faceless shadows following his every move.

It did not matter. Nothing mattered but staying alive and returning to Kyoto. The news of the recent battle must had reached Kyoto by now. And Akizuki, his beautiful, proud Akizuki...

After the first few incidents, he had little trouble finding out who kept sending the spies and assassins, and why. Between Atobe and Akizuki, they would also know. Akizuki - ruthless as the cold, alluring moon of his namesake - would not grieve, or waste his time with tears. No, his Akizuki would want vengeance. And he was just obdurate and determined enough to succeed no matter what the cost. So Tezuka had to get to him before he did something irrevocable.

Tezuka hastened his pace, listening for the whisper of footsteps in the distance behind him, mirroring his, ever drawing closer.

* * *

Red maple leaves hovered and twirled in the air, landing on the river with the grace of a dragonfly. The fallen leaves floated on the water, spinning, creating tiny ripples around them. Their movement blurred through the semi-transparent veil, and for a moment he thought he could see instead blood-red petals scattering over the water, rising and falling every time a breeze stirred the calm spring surface. Unbidden, a tear rolled down his cheek and fell on his sleeve. But there was no sorrow in his heart.

The red leaves rained down on him like a flurry of snowflakes. The sky was azure, high, and spotlessly clear. The wind was crisp, carrying the fading scent of flowers, the last breath of the deepening autumn.

And Akizuki danced.

Even the musicians were silent, hypnotized by the snowy sleeves that cut through the air, the yellow fan rising and falling in the perfect cadence of a butterfly in flight. The heavy sleeves swayed like the arched branches of a wisteria tree in full bloom. Akizuki's body was a song.

Before Kikuchi's transfixed eyes, Akizuki cast aside his veil, and leaped. The steel caught a shaft of sunlight, and Akizuki's lips were as red as the blood blossoming under his fingertips. Kikuchi's eyes only showed startled blankness, uncomprehending what was happening. Reaching inside his kimono Akizuki drew out a ring of palest jade, the other hand still gripping the dagger buried in Kikuchi's heart. Effortlessly Akizuki crushed the jade ring in his hand, and at last, understanding dawned in Kikuchi's dimmed gaze. The guards rushed towards them, broken out of their paralysis, but Akizuki paid them no heed, holding Kikuchi's eyes as he breathed his last. Slowly, Akizuki smiled.

* * *

The gates of the city were now within sight, growing closer with each stride, and Tezuka sighed in relief. He had steadily worked through the tightening net of would-be assassins, until he heard no more footsteps echoing his. His injured left shoulder burned, and he could not remember the last time he had eaten or slept, but he was finally home. He quickened his steps, the bared katana clutched tightly in his right hand.

Less than fifty paces from the city gates, a girl sat alone on the side of the road, sobbing, gingerly holding her ankle. A basket of spilled horseradish lay next to her, forgotten. Despite his heart clamoring for haste, he stopped in front of her.

"Are you all right?"

"I hurt my ankle," a childlike voice sobbed. "I can't get up."

Tezuka crouched down, putting his katana down on the ground.

"Let me see."

The girl turned her tear-stained face to him, and nodded. Tezuka leaned over, reaching for her ankle. Against all reason his instincts cried out _DANGER!_ and there was a flash of something in his peripheral vision. The next instant, pain blossomed between his shoulder blades, icy against his heart. He coughed, and the pain flared to a white-hot agony that left him sprawled on the girl's lap. There were droplets of blood on her kimono, starkly red on white.

He had to grab his katana and get up. Akizuki was inside the city, only minutes away.

Tezuka couldn't feel his hands or feet, or most of his body. He was so cold, freezing even under the bright sunlight.

_...For as long as we both exist in the wheel of this world..._

He would go to Akizuki. He would keep the promise. And they would always be together.

But for a little while, he needed to rest. He must have lost a lot of blood, and he was tired. So very difficult to keep his eyes open. So much easier to close them. Just for a little bit. Just for...

* * *

Scarlet spilled over pristine white. The yellow fan lay half-spread on the ground. Under the cascade of light brown hair, lifeless blue eyes were still open, staring emptily. Red lips, red as the blood spreading on the silk, curved in a frozen smile. One slender hand lay outstretched, as if reaching for the discarded fan.

The cicadas shrieked their desperate calls in the quiet of the autumn afternoon. From above, a single maple leaf, perfect in shape and flawlessly red, slowly fluttered to the ground, and landed on the yellow fan.

  


_  
**\- Finis -**  
_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank God AO3 has the option of choosing NOT to use archival warning. ^^; This was one of the few endings I wrote and absolutely adored, and I really didn't want to give it away. Sorry if anyone was unduly upset?
> 
> \- 落花流水 (낙화유수). Literally, "fallen petals on flowing water," this phrase can symbolize end of spring and also the love between a couple (flower being the usual symbol for a woman), in that falling petals would find their way to the water, and the water would carry them in a symbolic union. Another interpretation is of course the coming of an ending or ruin.
> 
> \- Tenjin shrine. Tenjin (Sugawara no Michizane, deified) is a Shinto god, and a patron of scholars. He had a particular affinity for plum blossoms, and legend says when he was exiled to Kyushu, his beloved plum tree flew from Kyoto to Kyushu to be with him. (So here is my tie-in with the side story, where the red plum blossoms play a part during Akizuki's meeting with the Samurai's son. :) There are Tenjin shrines throughout Japan, but Kyoto in particular holds one of the two major shrines dedicated to Tenjin: Kitano Tenmanguu (北野 天満宮).
> 
> \- There is a brief cameo appearance of Karupin in Part VI. Can you spot him? (I didn't expand on it because it is highly unlikely they would have had seal-point Himalayan in Japan at this time, but it was too good to pass up!)


	8. 追記: 鏡花水月 [Addendum: Flower in the Mirror, Moon on the Water]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet was written for Jehzavere, who wanted to know a little bit about the Rikkai side of the story.

**Whisper: **Addendum I****

(August 12, 2007)

 **追記: 鏡花水月 [추기: 경화수월]**

It was water's nature to reflect, just as it was moon's nature to be reflected. Such was the nature of the world, unquestioned and unchallenged, and likewise, Genichirou never questioned his place in his world. He was the second son of the prestigious Sanada family, one of the chief retainers of their daimyo. His brother would succeed as the head of the family, and he would be obedient to his brother and dedicated to the cause of his clan, and give absolute loyalty to his lord. His life would belong to the country itself. All of this, as familiar as breathing, made up his nature, and his place in life.

Until he met a laughing boy - for that was what he appeared - on a night with a particularly beautiful moon, in the outskirts of the city. In the old shrine he stopped by to pray, there was a pond full of lotus blossoms. In the midst of the blossoms he glimpsed at a pale back, so slender and beautiful that he thought it was a girl at first, and blushed only when he realized it was a boy. The boy's smile widened at his blushing face, and he beckoned.

 _A spirit_ , Genichirou thought at first, at the surreal but exquisite picture the boy made in the moonlit night, his features too perfect to be mortal, standing waist-deep in the water, surrounded by lotus. The water was calm around him, reflecting the full moon above, a veritable mirror full of flowers.

A dream. It had to be.

"What is your name?" the boy asked, and the voice, low and sweet, nevertheless carried the kind of authority that was accustomed to being obeyed.

"Sanada Genichirou," he answered, but did not think to ask for the boy's name in return. The boy was far too beautiful to be considered manly, yet commanded a presence like no other he had seen. The boy's smile flashed white teeth behind the peach-colored lips.

"Are you here to look into the water?"

"I was just out walking," Genichirou answered uncertainly. "What is there to see in the water?"

"Who knows..." the boy smiled, and drew closer to him, to the edge of the lake. He slipped out of the pond gracefully, and Genichirou hastily averted his eyes, realizing the boy indeed was naked. Soft laughter, tinkling like bells, reached his ears.

"What do you see?"

Genichirou belatedly remembered he was supposed to look at the water, and did so. He frowned. "I don't see anything but the lotus and the water."

"Not the moon?" The boy had pulled white gi over himself, but his legs, pale as the moon, were still fully visible. Genichirou took care not to steal another furtive glance.

"The moon is merely a reflection. That's not real."

A peal of silvery laughter. "I suppose. Like a flower in the mirror, the moon on the water." Then the boy was silent for a while, standing to pull on his hakama pants without a word. He looked at Genichirou for a moment, expression suddenly serious. "How would you know if it is indeed a reflection, meant only to be looked at?"

Genichirou knew that phrase; it meant something beautiful but unattainable, like a perfect blossom reflected in the mirror, and the enchanting moon reflected on the water, both equally unreal.

"I would reach into the water, and see for myself," Genichirou replied, and was surprised to hear himself. The boy, however, seemed pleased, and smiled once more.

"I will remember, Sanada Genichirou. Until we meet again."

Genichirou stared after him for a long time, until the boy disappeared from the view, and only then did he realize he never asked for the boy's name. The whole encounter had a dreamlike quality to it, and while he never forgot it, he never thought he would see the boy again, either.

When Genichirou met the boy again at age fifteen, it was at a formal banquet held by the Daimyo Maeda. The boy was sitting behind Yukimura Takahiro, Lord Maeda's chief aide-de-camp. The boy met his gaze, but the serene and severe heather-gray eyes held no recognition, nothing but unapproachable dignity befitting Lord Yukimura's son and heir. Genichirou's eyes slid over to his father, several seats down from the Daimyo's chief vassals, and his older brother sitting unobtrusively behind him. A flower in the mirror, and moon on the water, indeed. Genichirou looked down, and did not look up again.

When the banquet began, Genichirou hardly took note of the table being set before him, until he noticed a bowl of water sitting unobtrusively to the side.

Inside, floating in the clear water, was a small, perfectly-formed silk lotus blossom.

  
**Fin**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- 追記: 鏡花水月 [추기: 경화수월]. Addendum: Flower in the Mirror, Moon on the Water. Jehzavere was the one who supplied this title (taken from a Bleach chapter), which I then dutifully looked up. This phrase refers to something beautiful yet unattainable, like a flower reflected in the mirror, or the moon reflected on the water. It could also be interpreted as something that seems beautiful but is ultimately an illusion.
> 
> \- Lotus (Nelumbo nucifera; NOT water lily) has a lot of cultural importance in Asia, much as rose has in Europe. It has religious connotations in both Buddhism and Hinduism, and is highly prized for its beauty (in fact, beautiful women were often compared to lotus blossoms). Putting this together with the title, you can interpret their conversation here in any way you like. (And I'd really enjoy hearing other people's interpretation, too. :)
> 
> \- For the banquet scene, the guests had small individual tables set before each one, with all the food already set up on it. It had to be a miniature silk flower in the bowl (which was probably placed on Sanada's table at certain someone's direction) because the real lotus blossom tends to be fairly big!


	9. Addendum II :: Fugue: Samsara

**Whisper: Addendum II**

(July 18, 2011)

 **遁走曲: 輪廻 (둔주곡: 윤회)**

Fate is a wheel.

No life, once cut down, disappears. Through death, it merely reenters the cycle of birth and rebirth. The soul gains a new body and a new identity. However, the soul, though refreshed, is not recreated. Once it enters the world, until the day it leaves the fate's wheel, it remains bound to the world.

Ever turning. Never ending.

His life is over - before his time - but cut off from the body with a swift and clean strike. But the soul, damaged by the shock and burdened with grudges, lingers, lost in fury and the pain of death. Blood, violence and betrayal - the memories, too bitter and too powerful, do not slip away from the soul as they should, but cling to it like cobweb. And the thirst for vengeance holds it fast even after death, like shards of broken mirror piercing through the soul, pinning it to the living world.

Fragments of white stone. Red blood. Black earth.

A matching ring of white stone, this one whole, slips from the folds of cloth and falls to the earth, stained scarlet with blood. The body is becoming cold as life seeps away from it, no longer hospitable. But the blood on the ring is still warm, and calls to the soul like a savage lullaby. The soul reluctantly abandons the body, but hesitates before touching the ring. So fragile, this - yet it is the only thing that holds anything of the soul, and the only place the soul can find refuge. If he doesn't enter it, he will fade away. And he cannot fade away until he has his revenge. So the soul grasps for that link, desperation lending strength to his hold.

Sunlight glints on the red blood covering the band of white stone. Another moment, and the soul is fully contained, bonded to the ring. It will be a long time before he finds his quarry, and even longer to complete his vengeance. But he can rest inside, and bide his time until then.

Outside, the ring of white stone is dyed in dark, rich red. As it lies on the earth, forgotten, the color slowly turns duller, darker, until it is the color of rusted blood, all but indistinguishable from the earth that surrounds it.

Cradled within the ring's dark circle, the soul waits quietly for the fate's wheel to turn.

  
**Fin**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a fic with working title of _**Karma**_ , which I started writing before _**Whisper**_ ever came to existence. Later, as I was writing _**Whisper**_ , I realized _**Karma**_ would be a perfect sequel for it, so I changed some of its settings and planned it out to completion. Unfortunately, I never did go back and finish it. I probably never will, as there are too many other stories that have higher priority than _**Karma**_. ^^; But this ficlet is the setting-up for the sequel.
> 
> \- 遁走曲: 輪廻 (둔주곡: 윤회). Fugue: Samsara. Fugue is a musical composition in which a theme introduced in the beginning recurs throughout the course of the piece. Samsara, meaning "continuous flow," is the cycle of reincarnation (birth, life, death, and rebirth) in eastern religions.
> 
> \- See notes in Part V for jade. Although I am not sure if both China and Japan had the same custom, the jade rings in Korea were often created in pairs (both worn on the same finger). It was a popular romantic custom for lovers to each take one at parting, because the clarity of the jade symbolized unchanging devotion of the heart. Though this part is never mentioned in the main story, the ring Kikuchi gave Akizuki is also one of a pair. Kikuchi kept the other in the pair as a token of love.
> 
> \- The possession depicted in this part is largely pop-culture influenced, which nonetheless carries all the longstanding, traditional ideas on it: being unable to let go causes a soul to linger after death, and the restless soul, unable to rest, tends to haunt places/people/objects that had strong ties to them in life.


End file.
